


The Writing's On The Wall

by chosenandloved



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author/Writer, Beach House, Beach Town, F/M, New England, Romance, Summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chosenandloved/pseuds/chosenandloved
Summary: Zoey is doing just fine on her own in her quaint little beach-side town-that is, until a mysterious, handsome writer comes to stay for the summer.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke & Max Richman, Zoey Clarke/Max Richman
Comments: 169
Kudos: 59





	1. The Sun Also Rises

**Author's Note:**

> HI! Welcome to a my new story! I was born and raised in New England, so a lot of the places mentioned are places I've spent time in/visited. I didn't see #nostalgiafic as a tag, so...
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this story to the lovely reddish_umbrella: May this story help you to feel like you are in a seaside Maine town (Spoiler: No murder)
> 
> Each chapter will begin with an excerpt from a poem by Pablo Neruda, because I think his work is lovely and important, and because it makes sense in terms of the story later on. 
> 
> I will also attach some links/photos as needed. Please have a look if you are so inclined. My hope is that they will make up for where I lack in description.
> 
> A shout out as always to my Discord friends, and to AubreyRichman for being the steadfast beta that she is.

**Chapter 1: The Sun Also Rises**

  
  
  


_Necesito del mar porque me enseña…”El mar”_

_I need the sea because it teaches me…“The Sea”_

-Pablo Neruda

  
  


Zoey moved her curtain to one side and stared out at the waves. Her goal was to come out to the jetty to watch the sunrise. As was her custom, she rolled out of bed and threw on a pair of flip flops and a hoodie over her pajamas. Within minutes, and still half-asleep, she poured some coffee into a tumbler and stepped out the french doors onto the deck, and then onto the beach. 

She took her time crossing the sand, which was damp, as it was high tide. Fifty yards away, the jetty loomed in the distance, a shadowy figure in the hazy pink light. (1, 2).

Zoey was the only person on the beach. She smiled to herself as she pulled on the hood of her sweatshirt. Watching the sunrise was her ritual every day, but she still felt a thrill of victory at being the first one out. The soft sand ended where the rocky outcropping began, and she carefully began to scale the slabs of granite. Years of practice had taught her which stones were trustworthy and which were not. 

Finishing her climb, Zoey made her way to the center of the stone bridge, stomping as she went to dislodge the clumps of wet sand that still clung to her shoes. She looked out over the water where the faintest sliver of gold was beginning to peek over the horizon. The briny air lashed her face and she could feel the sting of salt as it accumulated on her lips.

Zoey closed her eyes against its assault, settling herself cross legged on a smooth stone. She allowed herself a few moments of peaceful meditation, enjoying hot coffee and the sound of the waves bashing the shore. Too soon she would have to retreat home, wash the salt from her skin, and get ready for the day ahead.

She glanced up at the brightening sky, now threaded with shades of lavender, and thought about what awaited her at work that day. Her schedule was completely full, but it was packed full of things she loved doing. There had been a time in the past when Zoey had dreaded going to work, but no longer. Her bookish personality was now working for her, in a way. 

Right out of college in Boston, she accepted an entry-level publishing position at Macmillan, a dream which quickly turned into a nightmare. The job had been lucrative but soul-sucking, with a boss that made all dragon-lady stereotypes pale in comparison. Zoey had loved living in Boston, and the rich history of the city, but the sad reality was that her work environment was so toxic that it left her with little energy to enjoy much of anything. She stuck with it for a full year before she gave her notice to do, quite literally, anything else. Zoey had been prepared to stamp cans or dig ditches, but thankfully the universe had other plans.

In a very unpredictable turn of events, a great-aunt on her mother’s side, who had no children of her own, named Zoey in her will. This had come as a huge surprise. To be fair, their relationship had never been a close one, and they had rarely seen each other outside of weddings and funerals. Despite that, it appeared that Zoey’s great-aunt had a special place in her heart for the only daughter of her favorite niece. 

At the reading of the will, Zoey had been astonished to learn that she was now the sole owner of both a charming beachfront cottage and a small commercial property in Dock Square. It was an upstairs shop, situated on a well-traveled street. Its colonial-style windows overlooked the intersection below on one side and the waterfront on the other. It had once been used to store paper goods.

It was, for lack of a better word, perfect. Zoey had wasted no time in deciding what it was to be: an independent bookstore.

After a quick shower and a panic-inducing search for her keys, Zoey jumped in her car for the short drive downtown. Arriving at her destination, she found some street parking and grabbed her purse and her laptop, her ballet flats taking her soundlessly over the cobblestones to the door at number 47. Before going in, Zoey glanced up, as she always did, at the shop’s sign. It was a wooden rectangular sign with smart green lettering that spelled out _Read The Room._ Seeing it never failed to make her heart jump.

Zoey stepped inside and closed the door behind her, setting the shopkeeper’s bell to ringing. The door opened almost immediately to a narrow staircase, paneled in wood on either side. As she climbed the stairs, a cooler-than-her-sounding acoustic track filtered down from the upstairs speakers. (3)

The first person she saw was Gina, who worked in the shop’s cafe as a barista and cashier. Zoey let her choose the music for the shop, as it was a strength of hers. She always seemed to set the right tone. In fact, as she walked in, Zoey noticed her putting the final touches on a new Spotify playlist. 

“Here it is!” Gina exclaimed by way of greeting. 

“Here’s what?” Zoey asked, crossing behind the counter and setting down her purse. 

Gina pouted. “The playlist I texted you about, remember?” (4)

Zoey did, vaguely. “Um, right. Absolutely,” she replied.

Gina waved her hand. “Whatever. I just wanted it to have a more summertime feel, you know?”

Zoey smiled. “I trust your expertise.”

She caught the eye of her manager, Amanda, and waved. She was on the far side of the shop shelving a new mystery series by a local author. It had just come in and was sure to be a favorite. Zoey took a moment to glance around. Everything seemed to be in order, which was no surprise: Amanda ran a tight ship. 

When Zoey had first inherited the property, it had been left vacant for many years, and needed a lot of work. However, like all good things, it had good bones. She had kept some of the original construction when she could, like the exposed brick and white washed beams. As far as decor went, she tried to stay away from the typical trappings of a Maine tourist-attraction: there were no buoys or lobster traps here. On the walls hung paintings by local artists and the occasional ceramic starfish. Zoey had added wrought-iron fixtures and Edison bulbs, and laid her great-aunt’s Persian carpets throughout. 

Aside from the rows of bookshelves, there was a small cafe area accompanied by a few leather side chairs that circled the fireplace. This area was rarely used, but Zoey felt strongly that it was necessary. She wanted people to feel like they were welcome to curl up with a book.

Gina busied herself with unloading the morning’s delivery of sandwiches and pastries, arranging them artfully in the display case. The shop wasn’t due to open for another thirty minutes, so Zoey opened her laptop and jumped into placing orders and returning emails from vendors. 

Together the three women passed a pleasant and fairly busy morning. As the summer vacationers flooded into town, they were entering their busiest time of the year. At noon, the usual lunchtime lull came, and Zoey allowed herself to dive into invoices and data. She heard the door chime with someone’s entrance, but she was too engrossed in her work to notice what path they took. She didn’t even look up until she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Zoey’s head snapped up, and she took in the sight in front of her. Standing before her was a tall man with dark, tousled curls and chocolate brown eyes. He looked to be in his late twenties, like her, and he was wearing a hunter green sweater and dark jeans. He was carrying a well-worn leather satchel and his face showed a few days of well-maintained scruff. He was astonishingly handsome.

Zoey craned her neck and looked around. Gina seemed to have disappeared, and she didn’t see Amanda anywhere. Zoey opened her mouth to greet the stranger, and then realized that she still had a pencil clenched between her teeth. She yanked it out, tossing it onto the counter. 

The man before her smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to disturb you. You seem very busy with your…” His voice trailed off.

“Uh, invoices,” Zoey supplied. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing important. It can wait. How can I help you?”

He smiled at her. “This is a great place,” he began, gesturing with his hands. “I’m here for the summer and I’ve been looking for a place to work.”

Zoey opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the man clarifying. “I’m sorry, not to work here, as in sell books.” He laughed to himself, shaking his head. “I meant, I’ve been looking for a quiet place to work. I’m a writer.”

Gina appeared, just as mysteriously as she’d vanished earlier. “A writer, huh? So is this one,” she said, jabbing a thumb in Zoey’s direction.

The man cocked his head to the side in interest. “Really? What do you write?”

 _Damnit, Gina._ The truth was that Zoey loved to write, but since opening the shop, she hadn’t written much. She was so busy that she didn’t have any time. That was what she kept telling herself, anyway. 

It was Zoey’s turn to clear her throat. “Historical fiction. Well, I mean, I’m not a _writer_ -writer. I write sometimes.” She paused. “I used to write.”

The handsome stranger gazed curiously at her. “You used to write. So now you surround yourself with other people’s writing instead. Pretty good trade-off.”

“Yes, I’d like to think so.” She tried to think back to what he had said earlier. “Right. Feel free to use this space for as long as you need. We don’t get a lot of people who stick around for hours, they mostly browse.” 

She gestured to the leather chairs and the small table in the corner. 

He smiled, looking right at her. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Gina took the opportunity to jump in, getting started his coffee order. He slid his card across the counter to Zoey, as she was closest to the register.

Zoey swiped it and started preparing a tray, sneaking a look at his credit card. Maxwell Richman. Hmm. Welcome to Maine, Mr. Richman.


	2. The Book Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey is intrigued by the shop's handsome visitor but isn't sure how to strike up a conversation with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to AubreyRichman, for being her patient, wonderful self (and beta)!
> 
> *Waves to Discord people*

**Chapter 2: The Book Thief**

  
  


_ Mientras escribo estoy ausente _

_ y cuando vuelvo ya he partido. _

“Muchos Somos”

_ While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone. _

“We Are Many”

-Pablo Neruda

  
  
  


Zoey slid the card back across the counter. “Here you go.”

He looked up at her and held her gaze for a moment.

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the offer to work here for a bit.” 

_ He has kind eyes, _ Zoey thought to herself.

Tucking his card into his wallet, he extended his hand. “I’m Max.” His smile was warm.

Zoey shook his hand. “And I’m Zoey.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zoey,” he replied. “Is this your shop?”

“Yes, it is,” she answered, a bit puzzled. “How did you guess?” 

“Oh, just a hunch. You seem really at home here.”

_ Huh. He was pretty observant. A writer. Figures. _

“Yeah, I inherited this place and tried my best to make it feel like home,” she replied. 

Max glanced around. “You’ve definitely succeeded. It has a very... ‘luxe treehouse’ vibe.”

A giggle escaped from Zoey’s throat.  _ Luxe treehouse? _

She looked up at Max, hoping she hadn’t offended him, but he was smiling, his eyes teasing.

“I hope you’ll take that as a compliment.”

She smirked at him. “Definitely.”

Just then, Gina came over with his coffee, passing it over the counter. He thanked her and turned his attention back to Zoey.

“Well, I guess I should get to it. If you’ll excuse me, Zoey…” He gathered his things and made his way to the chairs near the fireplace.

\----

The afternoon passed without incident. Zoey tried her best to leave Max in peace. She knew how difficult it could be to focus on writing. She busied herself with affixing price stickers to the pile of books in front of her. A constant stream of customers came and went. Max worked steadily through the afternoon, seemingly oblivious to the movement around him.

Zoey tried not to study him as he wrote, but she found it exceedingly difficult. Max cast a noble figure there in the corner of the shop. He was at once at ease and alert. He spent a fair amount of time staring out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. Occasionally he stepped out to the deck and surveyed the harbor and the tourists strolling by below. Despite his presence in the room, he appeared to be in some far-off place, returning every so often to jot down notes on his laptop or in a Moleskine notebook.

Above all, he was very serious when he wrote. Zoey couldn’t put her finger on it, but here was a general melancholy about him that only made Zoey’s curiosity grow.

Around four o’clock that afternoon, Max rose from his chair and gave a great stretch. He began to pack up his belongings, straightening the table and chair as he made his way to leave. 

“Heading out?” Gina called out from the cafe counter.   
  
“Yes, I’m calling it a day,” he returned. 

Gina frowned. “But you’re coming back tomorrow, right?”

Max glanced down, smiling shyly. “I’d like that.”

He gave her a wave, called out his goodbyes to Zoey and Amanda, and disappeared down the stairs.

Gina skipped over to Zoey, paused a few seconds out of an abundance of caution, then exclaimed, “Damn! He’s cute! It’s Christmas in July, ladies!”

Amanda sighed in exasperation. “You better chill out, or he’s going to leave. I swear, you are the most incorrigible flirt I’ve ever met!”

“So what?” Gina retorted. “I can’t enjoy some eye candy every once in a while? Most of our customers are empty-nesters or geriatrics, and they’re lovely, but let’s be real. This guy came in looking like a hot yachtsman, and I am here for it.”

Zoey was smiling in spite of herself. 

Amanda threw up her hands and retreated to the back room. Gina turned back to her boss. “And what do you think about our mysterious stranger? Gorgeous, right?”

Zoey paused for a minute. “Yes, he’s certainly very good looking, and a bit mysterious, as you said.”

Gina grinned conspiratorially, causing Zoey to hold up one finger of admonishment.

“However, I think we should do our best to make him feel comfortable. He is here to work, after all.”

Noticing her deflated look, Zoey offered, “Could I ask you to make a new playlist? Maybe one that will make him feel calm and productive?”

Gina’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I can do that.” 

She could practically see the gears turning in the young woman’s head. Gina grabbed her bags and started for the staircase. “Bye, Zo!”

Zoey shook her head, chuckling, and made her way behind the counter to retrieve her own belongings. She patted her jeans pocket for her keys as she walked toward the stairs. Satisfied, she called out. 

“Amanda, I’m heading out. Everything good? Remember, I open tomorrow.”

“All good. Have a good night!” Amanda shouted from behind a mountain of books.

Zoey nodded and turned to leave. Her eye spotted something on one of the leather chairs. She reached over and picked it up carefully.

It was a worn paperback. Zoey recognized it instantly as a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda.  _ Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.  _ The book appeared to be well-loved and had the appearance of being read many times. She turned it over to look at the tail of the book and saw printed in bold, black letters:  _ RICHMAN. _

_ Hmm. So, Max was a fan of Neruda and was visiting the shore. It made sense. _

Without even knowing why, Zoey found herself tucking the book into her tote bag. She could just leave it on the counter and give it to him the next time she saw him. Tomorrow, hopefully.

_ I’ll take care of it,  _ she justified.

Zoey descended the stairs, interest blooming at the back of her mind. Who was this polite, brooding stranger? 

\----

That night, she resumed her normal weeknight routing. Upon returning home, she turned on some music and cooked some pad thai from a meal kit she’d been meaning to try. After cleaning up the kitchen, she pulled out a book of her own and attempted to read on the window seat with windows overlooking the beach.

She didn’t make much progress. She was distracted. Zoey’s eyes darted to where her tote bag hung from a hook near the front door. She could sense the book’s presence in her bag, taunting her like a heart beneath the floorboards. Setting her own book down, she walked over and took out the book of poetry, chiding herself for being ridiculous. It was a book, not a bomb. 

She opened it to the first page and was surprised by a slip of white paper that floated to the floor. Upon picking it up, she discovered it was a receipt. 

_ Strand Bookstore, 828 Broadway. Maybe he was from New York? _

Zoey tucked it back into the book and thumbed through the first few pages, noticing a few underlined words, and a few pages with corners folded down. Looking further, she saw pages with extensive notes in the margins, and closed the book with a snap. She now felt like she was prying. In her experience, notes on poetry were private. Sacred, even. 

Zoey returned the book to her bag so she’d be sure to remember it tomorrow. Shaking her head, she retreated to her own book, allowing her mind to wander to the fictional mystery, instead of the one she was fabricating. 

\----

The next morning, Zoey was the first one into the shop. Max’s book was stowed safely in her tote bag.

She spent a quiet hour in silence, taking care of mundane business-owner tasks, before Gina came in, excited to show off her new playlist. Max came in shortly after, stopping by the counter to greet them both before starting work for the day. He was wearing another cozy-looking sweater, this one the color of garnet.

A gaggle of preteen girls came in, looking for journals, and Max retreated to what was becoming “his chair.”

By now, the small group had settled into something of a routine, and all three women knew his coffee order: iced mocha, almond milk, extra shot.

When it was ready, Zoey took his coffee and added a slice of local blueberry cake, arranging the items on a tray. 

Summoning her courage, Zoey took the book in one hand and the tray in the other. Taking care not to drop anything, she made her way to where Max was sitting in one of the leather chairs, making notes on a yellow legal pad.

She placed the tray down on the table between the leather easy chairs, being careful to avoid his notes. 

Max glanced up from his work and smiled. “Thank you! You didn’t have to do that. I drink far too much coffee to have each one brought to me. You’re setting a very dangerous precedent.”

Zoey returned his smile. “It’s not a problem. I don’t mind.”

She turned to head back to the counter but hesitated. Instead, she perched on the chair opposite Max. He looked up again, expectantly, setting down his notes.

Zoey opened her mouth to speak, not knowing where to begin. The whole thing felt very silly in the light of day.

“I took your book!” she blurted out, her voice a tad too loud.

Max glanced up, a bewildered look on his face.

“Um, okay?”

“I didn’t steal it. I mean, I took it. I did.” Zoey took a deep breath. “I took your book.” 

By now a lopsided smile had spread across Max’s face.

“But I didn’t read it,” Zoey added. She retrieved the book and held it out to him.

Max chuckled. “It would have been okay if you did. It’s a book of poetry, not a diary.”

Zoey shook her head furiously. “It has notes in the margins. That’s personal.”

Max looked up at her questioningly. “Do you write notes in the margins of your books?”

She was surprised by his question. “Well, not novels, but poetry volumes? Of course. Doesn’t everybody?”

Max shrugged. “I do, but I always just assumed I was the only one.”

He smiled up at her. “Looks like we have something in common.”

Zoey fought the urge to laugh. She was acting like a lunatic. She had made this entire exchange into something totally different in her mind. The relief was making her relax a bit. She bit her lip to contain the giggles that threatened to erupt.

“Are you free to chat for a moment?” Max’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Zoey was surprised. “Well, sure. I hope I’m not distracting you, though.”

Max shook his head. “Not at all. You’ve been so lovely to allow me to work here, I feel like I should try to get to know you a bit.”

She was having a hard time reconciling this smiling, sociable version of Max with the solemn, serious writer she’d observed yesterday. 

Zoey settled back into her chair. “So, what do you want to know?”

Max considered for a moment. “Did you always dream of owning your own bookstore?”

“No, actually,” she began. “It just kind of fell into my lap. I inherited the property, and I never considered turning it into anything else. I went to school for journalism, so I guess it makes sense.”

He nodded. “It seems great. The whole town is great, like out of a dream. Are you from here originally?”

Zoey crinkled her nose. “Yeah, I’m a Mainer, born and raised. And really? Most people think it’s cute enough to visit in the summer, but it’s pretty sleepy in the low season.”

Max exhaled sharply in surprise. “Definitely. I love it. I’ll take sleepy over crowded and noisy any day.”

Zoey paused to think. “So, you’re a fan of Neruda?”

His whole face lit up. “He’s my favorite. A lot of his poems were inspired by the sea, and I think that’s part of what led me here.”

He held up the book. “I’ve owned this since college, and every time I read it, I discover something new. I hope one day to be that brave in my work.”

Zoey smiled. “So, you’re a poet.”

Max frowned. “I don’t consider myself a poet. I’ve written mostly prose in the past, but in the past year, things took a turn and I decided to try something new. Plus, I couldn’t get this book out of my head. It’s a little self-indulgent.”

Zoey laughed, gesturing with her hands. “This whole place is self-indulgent. Welcome to the club.”

Max joined in her laughter. “I’m honored.”

A few moments of comfortable silence passed, then Zoey spoke up. “I’ll let you get back to work. It was nice talking with you.”

“And with you.”

Zoey returned the counter, wondering how she could have ever considered him to be serious or solemn. When she looked back at him, she saw that he was already staring out the window, his eyes again having taken on that dream-like gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max’s Book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0143039962/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_x_7n.aFbGCMEW3K


	3. The Accidental Tourist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey and Max go for a quick walk that turns into an entire afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending love to the Discord, especially to AubreyRichman, the loveliest beta in the land.
> 
> Thanks also to Ladylillianrose for her suggestions.
> 
> This chapter ended up being much longer than the last two, although I'm okay with that. There were a lot of seeds that needed planting, so here we are.

**Chapter 3: The Accidental Tourist**

  
  
  


_ Inclinado en las tardes tiro mis tristes redes _

_ a tus ojos oceánicos. _

“Soneto VII”

_ Leaning into the afternoon, I cast my saddened nets, _

_ towards your oceanic eyes. _

“Sonnet VII”

\- Pablo Neruda

  
  
  


Their small group had fallen into a comfortable rhythm as of late. Either Zoey or Amanda came in early to open on a rotating basis, with Gina coming in a bit later to cue up the day’s playlist and prepare Max’s coffee. A creature of habit, he usually came in at the same time, a copy of the  _ Coast Star _ tucked under his arm. By the time he arrived, Gina had his coffee waiting for him.

“You ladies spoil me,” he had started saying.

Today, Zoey had been the one to open the shop. As today was Friday, their cozy pattern would be interrupted.  _ Read The Room  _ was home to a weekly book club, composed mostly of older ladies, grad students, and the occasional precocious teenager. They normally occupied a few small tables in the back near the windows, and depending on their chosen text, discussion could get pretty intense.

She pushed open the door of the storeroom and was surprised to see Gina pop up in front of her. Zoey gasped. 

“Citrine,” whispered Gina.

“Huh?”

“Citrine. His sweater is citrine today,” Gina hissed.

Zoey gave her a quizzical look. “Okay, thanks for the update.”

Gina piled containers of almond milk in her arms. “Haven't you noticed? I have a theory that he has one in every color. That’s commitment.”

Zoey shook her head, laughing. Turning the corner, she encountered Max and Amanda, evidently deep in conversation. Max stood facing Amanda, leaning with his hand against a bookshelf, his face focused.

“Mansfield Park?”

Amanda nodded, continuing to shelve books.

Max pursed his lips, thinking.

“ _ This Side of Paradise _ ?”

“Ugh, pass. Fitzgerald’s as pretentious as hell.”

His jaw dropped. 

“Not even  _ The Great Gatsby _ ?”

Amanda made a retching sound and then laughed.

“Well,” Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle, “I look forward to seeing the rest of your list.”

Amanda nodded. “I’ll work on it tonight.”

Zoey took that opportunity to break into the conversation. “Let me guess: Top Ten Novels of All Time?” she asked. 

He grinned. “Yes. I tried to guess what was on her list, and it looks like we could not be more different.”

Zoey laughed. “Yeah, she’s not a huge Fitzgerald fan. I don’t think Amanda’s packing up and moving to Paris anytime soon.” 

She watched as Max tilted his head, and a strange look clouded his expression. Zoey furrowed her brow in confusion.  _ Had she said something wrong?  _ A second later, however, it passed and he was back to his usual gregarious self.

The thing was, Max was always amiable and polite. But there was something guarded about him that made Zoey wonder. She was probably reading too much into it, but it was as if he did his best to outrun these moments of sorrow that periodically caught up to him. Nothing nefarious, of course, but she would be lying if she said it didn’t make her wildly curious.

Changing the subject, she brought up the issue at hand. “So, today the Book Club meets, so you may find the store a little more rowdy today.”

“What are they reading?” Max asked, with genuine interest.

Amanda overhearing, called out, “ _ First They Killed My Father. _ ” (1) 

Max winced. “Some light summer reading, huh? Great book, but...wow.”

Zoey agreed. “That’s what I thought, but, hey, it’s their choice.”

The two of them ambled back to the front of the shop.

Max glanced at his watch. “What time do they start?”

“At around one,” Zoey replied. “So, I’m apologizing in advance if you find it difficult to be productive this afternoon.”

His face brightened. “You know what? That’s okay. I was thinking about taking a walk after lunch, anyway.”

He took a step closer to the counter, where she was stamping sets of notecards. “And I think that you should come with me.”

Zoey was surprised. “Are you sure? Won’t you find that to be a distraction?”

Max smiled. “I’m hoping so.”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

Max considered for a moment. “I feel like I’ve been ‘in the zone,’ so to speak, for so long now that it’s starting to feel a bit stale. I’m hoping that getting outside a bit will help.”

Zoey bit her lip, uncertain. Then, something occurred to her. 

“So, does that mean I get to show you around?” she asked, smiling shyly. 

“That would be great!” Max replied enthusiastically. 

  
  


\----

At one o’clock on the dot, the Book Club members clambered up the stairs, clutching their copies of the novel. They greeted Zoey and Amanda before lining up at the cafe to place their orders with Gina.

Zoey looked over at Max. He raised his eyebrows in silent communication, then started gathering up his things.

“Got everything?” Zoey asked, retrieving her purse from her desk drawer.

“I think so.” Max glanced around the seating area. “You didn’t take anything else, did you?” His expression was teasing.

“No!” Zoey exclaimed indignantly, even though he was obviously joking.

Zoey had already let Amanda know that they’d be stepping out, so once they were ready, they descended the stairs and stepped out into the warmth of the day.

Once outside, Zoey directed Max to the left. ”This whole area is called Dock Square,” she said, making a sweeping gesture. “Souvenirs, restaurants, artisans, toy stores…”

“Bookstores,” he supplied, elbowing her in the side.

“Of course,” she said, returning an elbow of her own.

The meandered down cobblestone streets, in turn admiring and joking about some of the things they encountered. Their current path caused them to stop right in front of a tiny shop with weathered cedar shingles. 

“The Candyman?” Max read aloud. “Sounds ominous.” (2)

Zoey waved her hand. “It’s a candy store! And they have the best fudge in the world. Let’s get some.”

Max needed no further encouragement. They walked into the shop, instantly confronted with the intoxicating scent of freshly-made candy. The two wasted no time in sampling (and then purchasing) an excessive amount of fudge, and a bag of saltwater taffy, for good measure.

As she rang them up, the cashier, a young girl who looked to be just sixteen, was obviously mesmerized by the man in front of her. Totally unaware, Max asked her about her day, and remarked on how beautiful the shop was, sending her a dazzling smile. The poor girl just blinked and smiled, a flush coloring her cheeks. Zoey observed with amusement, but Max, of course, was oblivious to all of this. Max insisted in paying for their mountain of fudge.

“Thanks for your help, Vanessa,” he said, as they made their way outside. The poor girl was left waving helplessly, not having yet found her voice.

_ Poor thing. _

“What’s next?” Max said, turning to Zoey. “I don’t really feel like going back to work right now.”

_ Hmm. That was a bit out of character for him. _

Neither did she, if she were being honest. She paused.

Max must have noticed, taking full advantage. “There must be more that you need to teach me.”

Zoey smirked. 

He pressed on. “Please, Zoey? I promise that I’m a very good student.” His face was open and earnest.

_ He had no right to be that cute. _

Zoey rolled her eyes at him. “Wow, anything to avoid writing, huh?”

Max opened his mouth in mock offense. “I just needed some fresh air. As a writer, you should know you can’t force the words to come. Plus, we’re always so responsible. We deserve an afternoon off.”

_ Was she really going to blow off work for someone she had just met? _

He continued. “I’m woefully ignorant about all of the New England coastal nuances. I feel like I’m still approaching my work from a perspective as an outsider, and that won’t do.”

Zoey hesitated. Max closed in on his prey.

He motioned for Zoey to come closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“And you are a local expert. Come on. Do it for the art, Zoey.”

_ Wow. He was ridiculous.  _

That much was true. What was also true was that she couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled this much. Part of her felt oddly vulnerable, like she couldn’t believe someone like Max would want to hang out with someone like her. But, here they were.

Zoey shook her head, laughing to herself. She pulled out her phone and wordlessly shot a text to Amanda telling her that she wouldn’t be back in, asking her to close up for the day, promising to do the next two.

Returning her phone to her purse, she looked over at Max, attempting a business-like expression. 

“Well, if you’re serious about this, we will need to get provisions.”

Max’s eyes lit up. “What kind of provisions?”

Zoey raised her eyebrows cryptically. “Follow me.”

She led the way down Western Avenue, crossing the river to a tiny clapboard restaurant, nestled right up against the harbor: The Clam Shack. (3)

“This place is the best, hands-down,” Zoey announced, approaching the window with confidence. 

“Hi, Steve!” She gestured over her shoulder at Max. “I have an out-of-towner here. Let’s do right by him, okay?” 

After they placed their order (a burger for Max and a lobster roll for Zoey), the pair stepped to one side to wait. Zoey looked out over the harbor while Max leaned with his back against the railing. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up questioningly, tilting her head to one side.

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to stare. Your eyes are just really blue.”

Zoey felt herself blush and opened her mouth to reply when she was interrupted by one of the workers calling out their number. “Forty-eight! Order for Zoey!”

She stood up quickly to pick up their order, wrapped up tightly. Sustenance in hand, she gestured to Max. “Back across the river!”

“Where else are we going?” he asked.

“We have one more stop. I thought you said you were game,” Zoey chided.

“I am!” he insisted.

“Because, if you’re going to tap out already, you should tell me now…”

Max opened his mouth as if to protest, but stopped when he saw in Zoey’s face that she was teasing. 

“Let’s go. Power through!”

Pulling Max by the elbow, they rounded the corner, then ducked into a general store. As they entered, she offered the traditional New England greeting of a raised hand and a brief but warm “Hey, there, Arthur.” The gentleman nodded his acknowledgement.   
  
Zoey stalked down the aisles, no doubt knowing where everything was. Within a minute she had selected one beach blanket, and two bottles of water, which she deposited into Max’s arms. They approached the register and placed down their items.

“Arthur,” Zoey began sweetly as the man began to scan their purchases. “Do you think we could trouble you for one of those great cloth bags you have? We’re packing quite a few things, and I’d hate to have a plastic bag rip on the way.”

“Nope. I’m running low. Have to send more to the printers,” grumbled Arthur. 

Zoey sent a sideways glance at Max. 

“Okay, no worries. I’ll grab one at Julia’s on the way out.”

“Julia’s!” The older gentleman harrumphed. “Ha! Hers don’t even say Kennebunk on them. Wait. I might have a scrid left over.” (4)

Arthur leaned down and opened a drawer under the counter, feeling around, before pulling out a generously-sized woven tote. Zoey clapped her hands in delight.

“Thank you, Arthur. This is just what we need.” She handed a few bills across the counter. 

Arthur groused a bit more while counting Zoey’s change. 

“Just for you, Clarke. Don’t tell anyone I’m givin’ out bags.” The ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “And say hi to your folks for me.”

Zoey reached out and squeezed his hand. “I will.”

The men nodded their goodbyes and the pair emerged once again into the copper sunlight. Zoey looked up at the sky, trying to remember the tide times. She turned to Max. 

“Okay, let’s drive. We’re having a picnic on the beach.” 

Max beamed. “I’ve always wanted to do that. How did you guess?”

They started walking across the square to where Zoey’s car was parked. “I didn’t, really, but its a rite of passage, so important all the same.” 

She unlocked her car, stowing their treasures in the back before settling in the driver’s seat. Max sat down in the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. The act shut out the ambient noise from the street and the interior of the car seemed oddly quiet. Intimate. 

_ Had this been a bad idea? _

Thankfully, Max seemed blissfully unaware of any tension. “So, just to be clear: this is a kidnapping, right?”

Zoey laughed, and felt a bit better. “Yes,” she replied jovially, and started the ignition.

\----

In just over ten minutes, they had arrived at the shore. Zoey combined all of their items into the one bag from Arthur’s, which Max graciously offered to carry. They trudged through the dunes and arrived at the beach, arranging their blanket on the soft white sand.

It very well could have been part of a photo shoot for  _ Coastal Living _ magazine: Local treats, saltwater taffy, lobster rolls and fries wrapped up in red and white checkered paper; the beach roses behind them and the roaring surf before them. 

Zoey was struck by how much fun she was having. She was doing all of the things she’d grown up doing-if anything, they were commonplace, now. But sharing them with Max had her seeing them in a new light. It seemed that the initiation was complete. Or rather, almost.

After they finished eating, Zoey spoke up.”So, should you choose to accept it, I have one more task for you.”

Max clasped his hands together in a show of readiness. “Let’s do this.”

Both wearing shorts, she and Max waded slowly into the waves. Despite the heat of the day, the water was still shockingly cold, a fact evidenced by the grimace of pain on Max’s face.

Zoey suppressed a giggle. “Would it help if I said that you’d get used to it?” (5)

Max scoffed. “Nah, it’s not that bad. Besides, cryotherapy is supposed to be good for you, right?”

Her giggles escaped, the pleasant sound mingling with the sound of the waves reaching the shore.

He grinned at her. “So, you’re going to show me how it’s done?”

As it was low tide, Zoey planned to teach him how to hunt for sand dollars. (6) Unsurprisingly, Max was a natural and found two within a few minutes. They stowed their finds carefully in their pockets as they went.

Zoey used her feet to gently stir up the sand, letting out a small cry of triumph as the silt settled, revealing a perfectly round sand dollar.

She picked it up, admiring it. “Growing up, my dad used to call these ‘Mermaid Coins.’” 

The memory startled her. She hadn’t thought of that in years. She looked up at Max, who was studying her carefully.

“And you believed him,” he supplied, without malice.

Zoey smiled. “Naturally.”

He smiled back, but it was more to himself, as he appeared to be once again lost in thought.

After a few more successes, they walked back to where the sand was fluffy and dry and sat down on the blanket facing the water. Each extracted their treasures from their pockets and arranged them carefully on the blanket between them. Zoey pulled a cotton scarf from her purse and used it to bundle them together. Then they turned their attention back to the sea and the watercolor sunset before them.

“This is medicine, isn’t it?” Max noticed after a while.

Zoey frowned. “Medicine?” she repeated.

He gestured at the sea. “All of this: the crashing waves, the gulls calling, this sky…it seems like forever since I’ve spent time under the stars.”

She laughed to herself. “Spoken like a true poet.”

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true, though. I think I needed to get away from the city.” 

He let out a long sigh. Zoey got the feeling there was more that he wasn’t saying, but he didn't elaborate. She decided not to push it.

Hoping to ease the tension a bit, she decided to appeal to their shared literary sensibilities. 

“Think about how doctors used to prescribe time by the sea. And it’s all over literature: Dickens, Carroll, Austen…”

“Woolf,” Max supplied.

Zoey nodded in agreement, thinking for a moment. “You know, I think there are many different kinds of medicine. It might be the sea, or a piece of music, or a conversation…”

Max broke in. “A new friend.” He turned to Zoey and offered a warm smile, which she returned.

It felt like only an hour had passed, but they had spent the entire afternoon together. They hadn’t run out of things to talk about, and the time had positively flown.

She glanced over at Max, who was busy watching the sun dip below the horizon.  _ Was she interested in him?  _ Zoey couldn’t be certain. Sure, he was attractive. But the conversation was on a whole other level. She felt like she had known him all her life.

Max’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. 

“Thank you, Zoey. This was just what I needed.” 

He stood up and reached out his hand to help her up.

She took his hand and stood, dusting off the sand from her legs. She handed over the cotton bundle of sand dollars.

“Please, take them. I have approximately three generations’ worth in my house already.”

Max chuckled and took his treasure into his hands.

“When you get home, rinse them and let them dry out. Then you’ll have them forever.”

Max nodded. “Will do.”

He bent to help Zoey shake the sand from the blanket and fold it.

“You know what?” he said. “I’m staying a few houses down from here. I’ll just walk. It would be silly for you to drive me all the way back to town when you’re so close to home.”

Zoey placed the folded blanket into her tote. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind. This is a round trip kidnapping,” she joked.

Max laughed. “I’m sure. I’ll ride my bike into town tomorrow.”

She relented and the two of them wound their way through the beach roses to the road. (7) Max insisted on walking Zoey to her car. 

They walked along the edge of the road in silence, dodging piles of drifted sand and razor-sharp seagrass. The setting sun had given way to a luminous moon, casting everything in an indigo glow.

Arriving outside her car, they both stopped. They looked at each other for a moment, perhaps both aware of how everything looks different in the moonlight. 

“Thanks again, Zoey. I can’t think of the last time I had this much fun,” Max confided. 

“Me, either,” Zoey answered truthfully. Their friendship was so easy and drama-free. She felt like herself around him.

Max paused. “See you tomorrow?”

Zoey smiled. “Same place, same time.”

Max nodded. He was looking at her like he wanted to say something. Raising his hand, he reached out and grazed her shoulder, tracing her arm down to her elbow, before dropping his hand again.

“Good night, Zoey.”

She didn’t know what to make of this gesture. “Good night, Max.”

She sent him one last smile over her shoulder and got into her car. Looking in the rearview mirror, she noticed that he didn’t turn around and started walking until her car was on the road, driving away.

Zoey wasn’t sure how to describe what today had been, but it sure was shaping up to be an interesting summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Loung Ung’s memoir detailing her experience and ultimate survival of Pol Pot’s genocide in Cambodia.  
> 2\. https://thecandymanmaine.com/  
> 3\. https://www.theclamshack.net/   
> 4\. Maine slang for “a little bit/a few.”  
> 5\. As of this publication, the recorded water temperature for this location was 62-64 degrees F.  
> 6\. https://whyfiles.org/shorties/256sand_dollars/images/sand_dollar.jpg   
> 7\. https://www.sanddollarrealestate.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/path_roses-1024x768.jpg


	4. A Tale of Two Cities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max shares a personal story with Zoey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOVE TO ALL MY LOVELY DISCORD PEOPLE!
> 
> Thank you to AubreyRichman, lovely, talented, tireless.
> 
> I'd like to extend a special thanks to jpow and Cynthia_Fangirl for their very kind help. Their suggestions have been invaluable.

**Chapter 4: A Tale of Two Cities**

_A veces van mis besos en esos barcos graves,_

_que corren por el mar hacia donde no llegan._

_Ya me veo olvidado como estas viejas anclas._

“Aquí te amo”

_Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels_

_that cross the sea towards no arrival._

_I see myself forgotten like those old anchors._

“Here I Love You”

-Pablo Neruda

  
  


It was Friday. The weather was clear and the sky was a piercing blue. A lovely breeze wafted in from across the harbor, cutting the midday heat and prompting Zoey to open the skylights near the back of the shop. Soon the shop was filled with the scent of crisp ocean air, tinged with salt.

As was to be expected, Fridays were slightly busier, and there was a steady stream of tourists throughout the morning and early afternoon. Gina set a new record for consecutive blueberry-lemon iced teas made in a single day. 

From her desk in the center of the shop, Zoey surveyed her surroundings. Despite the rush, everything else was as expected. That was, except for Max. He seemed preoccupied, and not with work. Normally he was in another world while he wrote, a wistful look on his face. Today his usually open features seemed strained, etched in stone.

Zoey watched as he stopped writing and put down his pen. He ran his fingers through his hair, as he often did while he wrote. He had been doing it quite a bit today, and his mop of dark brown curls had nearly doubled in volume. The muscles in his jaw were tense.

Standing and stretching, Max crossed the room and walked out onto the deck, closing the door quietly behind him. From where she sat, Zoey could just make out his tall frame looking out over the water, hands in his pockets.

_Maybe I should go talk to him._

She completed the order she was working on and hesitated for a moment. What if he didn’t want to be bothered? She considered how little she really knew about him. What she did know was that if their situations were reversed, Max would offer her a friendly ear.

Zoey shut her laptop and walked to the french doors leading to the deck. She paused with her hand on the door handle for a moment, before taking a deep breath and pushing it open. Max didn’t turn around. She shut the door and made her way to where he was standing. He continued to stare out at the water.

“Can I say something forward?” Zoey asked.

Max nodded. 

“You don’t seem like yourself today. Do you want to talk about it?”

He raised his head sharply.

“That obvious, huh?” He laughed bitterly. 

“Today is the birthday of someone I know. Or rather, used to know.”

Zoey raised her eyebrows but said nothing. 

Max barked out a laugh. “You’re too polite to ask whose. Okay, here’s my sad tale. Ready?”

Zoey had no idea if she was, but she nodded her encouragement. 

“So,” Max began, “I’m originally from New York- Brooklyn. I went to college in the city, and my senior year I met someone, Alecia. We actually met right before graduation, but it worked out because we were both staying in the city: I had started my MFA at NYU, and she was dancing at ABT. (1) We started dating immediately and things got serious really fast. We moved in together and things were great for a while.”

Max shaded his eyes with one hand while he gathered his thoughts.

“One afternoon she came home with big news. She had been offered a chance to dance in a workshop in Paris with the Opéra National. I wouldn’t be able to join her in the middle of my program, so she would be gone for half the year. She asked me if she should take it, and if it would be too much for our relationship. It was an incredible opportunity and I would never have stood in the way of that. It came as a shock, sure, but I was in love with her. I would have said yes to anything. Honestly, I was ready to fucking propose to her. For me, it was an easy choice. Six months would be nothing.”

Zoey felt a pit begin to form in her stomach.

“The plan was for me to go visit her for a few weeks toward the end of her time there, and then we would travel together for a while.”

Max paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“Long story short, I decided to surprise her. A few days ahead of Spring Break, I flew to Paris without telling her. I went to the address she’d left me, a little walk-up in St. Germain. I showed up at her door, my heart beating a million miles per hour.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Guess who answered? A guy, I can assume an artist, because he had paint all over his hands. He was wearing only a towel. He asked me in French who I was there to see. Alecia came to the door a minute later, I guess when she heard our voices.”

Zoey gasped.

Max swallowed heavily. “I don’t recall her saying anything. I guess explanations weren’t necessary. The thing I remember most was her expression. On her face I could see surprise. Not regret, not remorse, not love. It was like she was only sorry for getting caught.”

He turned the pen he held in his hands over and over, taking the cap off and replacing it as he spoke.

“I ticked the box on every cliche. I showed up with a bouquet of flowers and all, like a complete loser.”

Zoey closed her eyes against the image of a heartbroken Max, stumbling away from the doorway, devastated.

“I got out of there like I was on fire. I left and purposefully got lost in a crowd. I wanted to be gone. Looking back, I guess I thought she might come after me.” He paused, shaking his head. “I don’t know, maybe she did.”

He seemed to consider that for a moment before moving on.

“I walked out and just kept walking, going nowhere. I must have looked at a bunch of beautiful sights but I didn’t see anything. I don’t even know what I was thinking, but eventually I realized that the sun was setting. I had walked all the way to the Luxembourg Gardens and suddenly I was surrounded by couples walking hand in hand. It was desperately romantic and it made me nauseous.”

Max stopped for a moment, catching his breath. “At some point it dawned on me that I was still holding onto that damn bouquet of flowers. I gave them to a teenager who was there with his girlfriend. Right then and there, I took out my phone and changed my flight to leave the next day.”

Zoey listened in silence, anger at what had happened to him bubbling below the surface.

“I thought about staying, getting lost in the city, traveling a bit on my own. Ultimately, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to be reminded of all the things we had talked about experiencing together.”

Zoey wanted to do something, anything. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, or hug him. But she didn't want to cut him off and make things about her. She knew the best thing she could do right now was to listen.

Max continued. “And I haven’t spoken to her or heard from her since. When I got home I changed my number. A few of my friends let me know that she reached out to them, trying to get in contact, but I shut it down, and they honored that. As far I know, she stayed in Paris.” He heaved a sigh.

“I am so sorry, Max,” Zoey murmured, meeting his eyes for a moment. He glanced away, rays of the late afternoon sun cutting across his face. 

“Yeah, well, so am I.” He offered her a half smile. 

Max cleared his throat. “After that, I couldn’t write for a while, about six months. I just had nothing to say. Nothing that anyone would want to hear, anyway. I finished my degree capstone somehow. For a while I walked around in a fog. Then the last time my aunt came into the city, we met up for lunch. She must have been horrified at my sad state, so she suggested that I stay at her beach house for a while, get away.”

He pulled out a chair at one of the deck tables and gestured for Zoey to sit. “Anyway, my schedule didn’t allow me to leave right away. After a few more months I sublet my apartment in the city to a friend and then drove out here.”

He let out a long breath. “Anger is pretty decent writer’s fuel, as it turns out.”

He looked up at Zoey, his expression much softer than before.

“Hey, I’m sorry to burden you with this.”

Zoey shook her head vehemently. “It’s not a burden. You don’t have to put on a brave face for anyone, especially for me,” she said. 

“Thank you,” Max replied softly. 

They sat at the table in companionable silence for a few minutes, then stood up and crossed the deck. Max reached over and opened the door, following her inside. As they entered, Zoey turned back to him, wanting to know if he was okay. He gave her a reassuring smile.

Zoey walked back to the counter, incredulous. She couldn’t believe what Max had shared with her. What she’d mistaken this whole time for mystery had actually been heartbreak. Betrayal. 

She approached her desk, her mind still on the pernicious Alecia. She couldn’t imagine just breaking someone like that, especially someone as giving as Max. Her thoughts were interrupted by Gina. 

“So, what’s up? Is he okay?”

Zoey hesitated, nodding. She felt weird talking to her friend about Max. Their conversation had been oddly intimate, and she didn’t want to break his trust. Thankfully, Gina didn’t seem interested in details.

“You guys were talking out there for a while,” she said slyly. “Anything going on with you two?”

“No,” Zoey replied shortly. “He just had some things on his mind.”

Gina waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll bet he did.”

Zoey scoffed dismissively, while her friend laughed at her discomfort. “Relax. I’m joking. Here.” She held up an iced drink, swirling it so that the ice clinked enticingly. 

“Did he ask for this?” Zoey asked. Gina gave her an exasperated look and slid the cup across the counter.

“It’s coffee. He’s Max. Take it to him,” she urged.

Zoey shrugged and accepted the cup. She crossed the shop to where Max sat, looking through some pages of notes. The veil seemed to have lifted, and he looked more like his usual self.

“Hey,” she said, setting the coffee down on the table.

A smile lit up his face, and he took the cup into his hands with reverence. “How did you know? I was down to my last brain cell.”

Zoey laughed. “Actually, Gina made it, I’m just the delivery person.” 

“I’ll have to remember to thank her,” Max replied.

“So,” Zoey began, sitting down in the chair opposite him. “I hope I didn’t cause you to stir up too many unpleasant memories earlier.”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, please don’t worry about that. If anything, I found it helpful. I was carrying that story around for too long. It doesn’t serve me anymore.”

She was still unsure, but felt a bit better. She stood up, and turned to leave, when Max reached out and squeezed her hand, then let it fall.

“Why don’t I have your number yet, Zoey?” he asked.

She stopped in her tracks.

“Um, I don’t know,” she replied dumbly.

Max reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow? I’d like to cook you dinner.” He handed his phone to her.

She took the phone in her hands, both surprised and pleased by his suggestion.

“It’s the least I can do,” he went on. “You’ve let me work here, and you took the time to show me around. I really appreciate it.”

She hesitated.

“Besides,” Max said, bringing his eyes up to look into hers. “I’m running out of reasons why we shouldn’t.” 

_So am I._

Zoey quickly added her number and passed the phone back to Max, hoping that her rapidly beating heart wouldn’t betray her voice. “Text me your address?”

He smiled up at her. “Okay, then. It’s a date.”

He turned back to his notes, scribbling a note in the margin of his manuscript.

Zoey turned and made her way back to the counter, ignoring Gina as she made several unsubtle attempts to gain her attention. No doubt she had overheard.

_A date? Was it? Did he want it to be? Did she want it to be?_

If the way her heart was hammering in her chest, and the goofy grin on her face meant anything, the answer was a resounding yes.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. American Ballet Theatre.


	5. A Room With A View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey accepts a dinner invitation at Max's beach house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to beta AubreyRichman, the hardest-working empress in the West!
> 
> Hello to the lovely people of Discord!
> 
> If interested, please see the notes after the chapter for links to Zoey's dress, Max's beach house, and his summer playlist.

**Chapter 5: A Room With A View**

  
  
  


_ De noche, amada, amarra tu corazón al mío _

_ y que ellos en el sueño derroten las tinieblas _

_ Tie your heart at night to mine, love, _

_ and both will defeat the darkness _

-Pablo Neruda

  
  


Zoey fanned herself with a magazine. It was oppressively humid, prompting her to open the skylights to allow some fresh air to circulate. A low pressure system must be brewing in the Atlantic, she reasoned. It was Saturday, so Max hadn’t gone into town to work at  _ Read the Room _ . It was just as well because the shop was chock-full of tourists in search of beach reads and cold drinks. Amanda had heard about Zoey’s dinner plans (from Gina, no doubt) and shooed Zoey out of the shop shortly after the post-lunch rush. 

“You need to go get ready!” she had claimed.

Zoey was starting to get nervous. Get ready for what, exactly? She was just having dinner with Max. Max was her friend. Friends ate together all the time. 

Dutifully, she left work when prompted, ignoring myriad good-natured catcalls from Gina as she departed. Stopping at the liquor store on the way home, she selected a bottle of tequila to bring over later. Zoey drove home with the windows down, hoping that the breeze would offer some sort of respite from her nerves. Once home, and confronted with her closet, she tried to not overthink what to wear. After considering a few options, she settled on a simple linen sundress and leather sandals. (1)

It turned out that Max’s house was only a few minutes’ drive from Zoey’s. Just before seven she turned into the driveway, marked with a granite hitching post. She slowed a car to a stop under a towering aspen. 

Zoey was nervous, although she wasn’t sure why. She had known Max for a little over two weeks, now, and they spent plenty of time together. So why did this feel different?

  
  


_ Because he invited you. Because you’re at his house. Because he’s cooking you dinner. _

  
  


There was also the fact that the shop and Dock Square were her turf, so to speak. She felt comfortable there. Traveling outside of the bookstore bubble meant that this interaction was a real-life exercise. It felt intimate. Significant.

  
  


_ Maybe because it’s a date. _

  
  


Zoey’s phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  
  


_ Max: I’m out back! _

  
  


It was now or never. Zoey attempted to shake off her remaining nerves, grabbing her purse and the bottle of tequila. She stepped out of her car and looked up at the house. (2)

The beach house was a modern colonial, with the weathered cedar shingle siding typical of the coast. It stood three stories tall with large windows that looked out to sea. From where she stood, Zoey could just make out where the grassy yard dropped off, giving way to the rocky breakwater and the beach below. 

She chose to follow a flagstone pathway that seemed to lead along one side of the house. Ducking under an arbor covered with climbing wisteria and hydrangea, Zoey emerged into a tidy backyard. Small but lushly green, Max’s backyard had a fire pit opposite the patio, surrounded by brightly colored Adirondack chairs. To her right was an outdoor kitchen with a grill that held something delicious-smelling. Music filtered through a speaker to where she stood. (3)

  
  


_ Jeff Buckley. Good taste. _

  
  


She stepped up onto the patio and craned her neck, not seeing anyone. Just then, a door to her right opened, and Max emerged carrying ears of corn and a pitcher of juice. He spotted her and his face broke into a bright smile. 

“Hey! You made it!” he exclaimed, adding, “You look beautiful.” He set down his supplies on the counter and gave her a quick hug.

His warmth and enthusiasm were contagious, and Zoey felt her nerves melt away. Max was dressed in chino shorts and a zip-up sweater in a deep sapphire. Zoey smiled to herself, making a mental note to relay the color to Gina.

“Hi! Yeah, you and I are practically neighbors,” she replied, feeling more at ease. “This is for you,” she said, holding out the bottle. 

Max’s eyes lit up. “Thank you! And it turns out that you are a mind-reader.” He gestured to the pitcher on his work station.

“I just juiced some blood oranges. You up for some margaritas?” 

Zoey nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. I’ll start. You look like you’re in the middle of something.”

She grabbed some glasses and limes from the table. Soon enough, she had two glasses of ruby-toned margaritas. Setting one before Max where he stood manning the grill, Zoey reached out to clink her glass to his. 

“To summer nights,” she toasted, her eyes meeting his.

“To summer nights,” he echoed, holding her gaze. He smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Zoey.”

“Me, too,” she answered.

They remained like that for a moment, Zoey enjoying the way that Max was looking at her. Neither seemed to want to be the first to break the spell. After what seemed an eternity, Max set down his glass and gestured for Zoey to join him at the grill.

“So, we are combining every summer food cliche,” he joked. “The plan is to grill everything. The corn is already going, and your next step is to choose what you want on your pizza.”

“Grilled pizza?” Zoey asked. 

Max nodded. “It’s foolproof, and I personally vouch for it being amazing.”

She smiled. “I trust you, Chef.” 

Zoey surveyed her options. There must have been fifteen bowls in front of her. She selected grilled chicken, artichokes, and green onion.

It was an entirely domestic scene. She couldn’t believe that only a short while ago she had been apprehensive about any of it.

“Anything I can do to help?” Zoey asked, standing up on her tiptoes to watch Max as he added cheese to the pizzas.

“Sure. Can you dress the salad?” He gestured to the prep area to his right.

Zoey surveyed the table and took stock of her options. She picked up some olive oil, lemons, sea salt, a pepper grinder, and a few sprigs of thyme. Simple enough. She picked up a whisk and got to work. They worked side by side like a seasoned team, chatting animatedly. She amused herself imagining that they were filming a bougie cooking segment for  _ House Beautiful.  _ By the time she was finished, Max was pulling the pizzas off the grill. 

“Let’s plate. I’m starving!” He looked around, spotting the pizza cutter on the other side of Zoey’s workstation. He carefully stepped behind her and reached over with one hand, pressing the other to the small of her back as he did so. Zoey played it cool, but her skin still felt warm where his hand had been.

The two of them sat down at the table to eat, the soft music and the distant roar of the surf in the background.

“This is a beautiful house,” Zoey offered between mouthfuls of pizza. 

“Thank you,” Max replied. “It’s my aunt’s place. She flips houses for a living, and she was nice enough to offer it to me for the summer.”

“Well, I’m glad she did,” said Zoey, regretting the statement the second it left her mouth.

_ Was she flirting with him? Calm down, Clarke. _

But Max didn’t seem taken aback. “So am I,” he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up.

Zoey’s heart began to quicken its pace. She jumped up with the excuse of making another round of margaritas.

Thankful to have some useful employment, she busied herself with switching out their glasses, replacing them with the new ones. Max murmured his thanks and she resumed her place across from him on the patio, sinking into the chair cushions with a sigh.

“Wow,” Zoey said contentedly. “Thank you for dinner, Max. Cliches are delicious.” 

Max smiled at her affectionately. “You’re very welcome.”

\----

By then, they had moved from the patio to the chairs surrounding the fire pit. They talked a blue streak, and before they knew it, the sun had set, the sky exploding into an array of corals and lavenders.

Zoey sat with her feet propped up on the edge of the fire pit. The fire crackled and popped, casting their surroundings in a warm glow. 

“You know,” she said, thinking out loud, “I never really got the backstory on your love of Neruda. Did you ever travel to South America?”

“I did,” replied Max, setting down his drink. “I studied literature and Spanish for a semester at the Universidad Católica in Chile. I got to travel all over on breaks and long weekends.”

Zoey’s traitorous mind instantly created an image of Max in Patagonia, wearing Patagonia, and petting a llama. 

From there started an interminable stream of giggles, so persistent that Zoey had to fight for control to ask her next question. Max’s nose wrinkled in amusement, but he waited patiently for her to regain her composure.

Her voice still trembling from laughter, she managed to gasp out, “Please tell me you have a picture of you with a llama.”

Max grinned. “I do, but not here at the house. And actually, in Chile they’re often called  _ guanacos _ .” (4)

Zoey groaned. “I’m jealous. I want to go.”

“You should. It’s beautiful,” he agreed. “If you do go some day, call me up. I’ll join you.” He took a slow sip of his drink.

“Besides, isn’t it my turn to show you around a place I love?”

  
  


_ What was happening here? Was he flirting? She was too out of the game to even know for sure. _

  
  


Zoey suddenly felt warm all over despite the breeze from the ocean. 

\----

She excused herself and ventured inside to find a restroom. After washing her hands, she leaned against the sink, looking up into the mirror. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes bright. The bright coral of her dress set off her creamy skin. She looked good, and she felt good. It could have been the tequila talking, but she felt carefree. Happy. She thought about how when she spent time with Max it felt like no time at all had passed, but also like she’d known him forever. She thought about the way Max looked different with weekend stubble and fleetingly wondered what it might feel like against her skin.

  
  


_ Whoa. Where did that come from? _

  
  


Zoey closed the restroom door behind her. She ventured out, seeking the way she had come in. The lights were off in the main area of the house, but the floor-to-ceiling windows let in the cool blue moonlight. Outside, she could see Max’s tall form stoking the fire. She smiled to herself. She had lost track of all the things they had laughed at. She hadn’t laughed that much in a very long time. 

Really laughing. Really listening. Really seeing.

And then it hit her.

  
  


_ It wasn’t the alcohol that made her feel uninhibited. It was Max. _

  
  


She reclaimed her chair at the fire, trying to silence her restroom revelations for the time being. Max added a few more logs to the fire before settling back into his own chair. He looked over at Zoey and smiled.

“I think this place suits you,” Zoey remarked.

“Thanks. I feel like I’m settling in,” Max replied. “Although, I’m trying to decide how far to take it.” His eyes were dancing.

“Should I grow a full beard? Wear even bulkier sweaters? Maybe I’ll go full lightkeeper.”

Zoey giggled. 

A thought struck Zoey. She knew a place he had to see.

“Hey, do you want to go on a day trip tomorrow?” she asked suddenly. “That is, if you’re not busy.”

Max laughed out loud. “Busy? Zoey, you know I make my own schedule. Besides, I’d love to take a day trip with you. If you haven’t noticed, I spend most of my time at your store, as it is.”

Zoey blushed and bit her lip. She had a pleasant buzz from the margaritas, and the night was warm, but she still felt a shiver travel down her spine.

Max noticed right away. He was on his feet immediately, unzipping his sweater and placing it around Zoey’s shoulders. She murmured her thanks and shrugged into it. It was exactly as cozy as it looked, and smelled like a combination of his cologne and the wood of the fire.

The two sat quietly for a moment, then Zoey spoke up.

“Can you tell me about what you’re writing?”

Max nodded. “It’s half poetry, half prose. It centers on a protagonist who suffers a shipwreck and the people he encounters afterward. Mostly, it all circles back to the stark landscape.”

She paused, considering this.

“Do you ever let people read your work before it’s finished?”

“Sometimes,” Max said, his expression questioning. “Under the right circumstances.” He fell silent, his eyes searching her features.

Zoey decided to not press the issue. Instead, she smiled at him, letting him know that he was off the hook. For now. If she were being honest, she was wildly curious about his work, but she didn’t want to force him into sharing before he was ready.

Another thought occurred to her. “So, as far as the trip tomorrow, I don’t want to reveal too much, but I can say this:” She paused for a moment, gratified to see Max lean toward her in interest.

“It’s a little bit of a drive from here, not too long, though. And you’ll need something waterproof, like a shell, or raincoat, sunglasses, and shoes you can climb in.”

“Shoes I can climb in,” Max repeated to himself. “Where are you taking me?”

Zoey shook her head and put a finger to her lips. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” she teased. 

“In fact, I should probably get going. We’re going to get an early start.”

He let out his breath in a huff, in mock frustration. “Fine, I guess.” He smiled at her adorably, and she almost told him where they were going on the spot.

She tried to help clean up and put things in order but Max wouldn’t allow it, assuring her that he would take care of it. He took her gently by the elbow and turned her away from the outdoor kitchen, and then his hand was on the small of her back again, gently leading her under the arbor covered in fragrant vines. Zoey was glad that the two of them were in relative darkness, and hoped that he wouldn’t see how much his touch affected her.

“Thank you for tonight, Max. This was a great idea.”

They strolled slowly down the driveway until they arrived at Zoey’s car, gravel crunching under their feet. They stood across from each other, and she reached into her purse for her keys, pushing back the folds of fabric that pooled at her wrists.

“Oh,” she remembered. “Your sweater.” She moved to unzip it, but Max protested, stopping her hands with his own.

“Please, don’t worry about it.” He smiled down at her. “Besides, you can give it to me tomorrow.”

Zoey’s face brightened with the recollection. “Right. I’ll pick you up at eight. Is that too early?”

“Not at all,” Max replied. “Although, I don’t know where we’re going. You’re really not going to tell me?”

Zoey shook her head. “Nope. It’s still a secret. You’ll find out soon enough. Where’s your sense of adventure?” she insisted. 

Max laughed, throwing his head back. “Fine,” he said, putting up both hands in mock surrender. “Since you’ve shown yourself to be such a gracious tour guide, I will respect the process.”

Zoey joined in his laughter, surprised at how much more relaxed he seemed. Content. For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she might have something to do with that.

Their laughter died out and gave way to silence. The only sounds were the crickets and the waves pounding the shore. 

Zoey brushed a curl away from her face and looked up at Max. He had a look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. He took a half step toward her, taking her by surprise. 

Max tugged lightly on one arm and pulled her into a tight hug, much more affectionate than the quick hug of greeting they’d exchanged earlier that night. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her toward him. If she’d thrilled at the touch of his hand earlier, this was on an entirely new level. It was electric. She surprised herself when her arms came up automatically, her hands settling on his back. Max rested his chin on her head, letting out a slow breath.

All too soon, he released her, his hands trailing down her arms.

“Good night, Zoey,” he breathed.

“Good night, Max,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She climbed into her car, and like the last time he had seen her off, he waited until her car had reached the road before he turned and walked into the house.

She had a smile on her face the entire drive home.

\----

Zoey stepped into her entryway, yawning as she kicked off her sandals and tossed her keys onto the console table. The yawn prompted her to grab her phone, thankful for having the presence of mind to set a morning alarm. She couldn’t figure out why she was so tired. It must have been the combination of fruity drinks and salty air.

She’d had such a good time. Zoey hung out with groups of friends, of course, but tonight had been different. It was probably her imagination, but she could swear she still felt tingly from the hug she’d shared with Max.

And the good conversation. 

And the tone of Max’s voice when he talked about his work. 

The way Max’s sweater enveloped her tiny frame.

Walking into her bedroom, Zoey suddenly felt very sleepy, indeed. Setting her phone on the bedside table, Zoey crawled onto her bed without even getting under the covers. The sweater cocooned her like a blanket, and she quickly succumbed to a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Zoey’s dress: https://n.nordstrommedia.com/id/sr3/6d0605fd-8610-4634-a230-ecf2e13fe8c2.webp?crop=pad&pad_color=FFF&format=jpeg&w=780&h=1196&dpr=2 
> 
> 2\. Max’s Beach House: https://www.vrbo.com/4244682ha 
> 
> 3\. Max’s Beach House Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0lHiOuQnC7sjBZnGtc38AM?si=tBte6CtIR_uK-3E03nqdVQ 
> 
> 4\. Guanaco: https://www.britannica.com/animal/guanaco


	6. To The Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey takes Max on a mysterious day trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one, everyone. It went in a different direction than I had originally intended, but I'm happy with it.
> 
> Hello, Discord friends!
> 
> Oh, Captain; my Captain! Thanks as always to the lovely AubreyRichman.
> 
> View the video for an idea of how Max and Zoey spent their time: https://youtu.be/XukZHpZaJIM

**To The Lighthouse**

_ Oh torre de la luz, triste hermosura _

_ O, tower of light, sad beauty _

-Pablo Neruda

  
  
  


Zoey woke up bright and early on Sunday morning. Ever the early bird, she had woken up before her alarm. She sat up and stretched as the first rays of sun streamed in through her bedroom windows.

As she watched the horizon gradually warm to a hazy amber, Zoey was struck by an urge to do something she hadn’t done in a long time: write. She stood up and walked to the desk in the corner of her bedroom, picking up a notebook and pen before she changed her mind. She sat cross legged on her bedroom floor, looking out the french doors at the rising sun.

At least a year had passed since Zoey had written anything personal, just for the sake of writing. She had been busy with the shop, sure, but it had more to do with her own insecurities. Back in college she had often escaped into writing, penning mostly short stories and poems. Working in publishing had convinced her that no one would be interested in what she had to say. But now she felt that old spark of inspiration like she did before.

She wrote for about twenty minutes without lifting her pen, then set it down, scanning the pages. Her eyes landed on a few lines of verse.

  
  


_ The sea is dark and unforgiving _

_ The rocks below lie in wait, lurking _

_ The light illuminates the path _

_ You wait for me but I cannot cross _

_ Tethered to the shore, uncertain _

_ My heart is calling out for you _

  
  


Zoey closed the cover of the notebook. She had no idea where the sudden desire to write had come from, but she felt imperceptibly lighter. Raising her arms above her head, she gave a long stretch, then looked at her clock. It was still two hours before she had to pick up Max, but she decided to jump in the shower and get ready quickly, intending to pick up breakfast for the drive up. 

A little over an hour later she emerged from her house with her backpack, locking the front door behind her. The day was warm and clear, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair. As she got into the car, she called ahead to Joe’s Cafe, asking them to get started on a pick-up order of breakfast sandwiches, fruit salad, and iced coffee. She and Max were going to need their strength.

\----

A little while later, and armed with provisions, Zoey set out in the direction of Max’s house. She rolled the windows down as she drove, anticipation brewing. She felt both excited and nervous: she knew that the two of them got along well, but she hoped that it would be enough to carry them through an entire day together.

Zoey pulled into the driveway and slowed to a stop under the tall aspen. A few moments later, Max emerged from the beach house, looking like he had stepped out of a J. Crew ad, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He raised his hand and waved, a brilliant smile on his face. Zoey felt a flash of appreciation. Maybe she needed to admit what she already knew to be true: 

_ Max was hot. _

For a split-second she regretted not getting out of the car upon arrival. He probably would have hugged her again. Her mind drifted to last night and the feel of his arms around her. She managed to get ahold of herself by the time he reached the car. 

Max pulled open the passenger side door and slid in next to her. “Good morning!” he exclaimed. He glanced down at the coffee and breakfast stored in the center console. “Wow! Is this for us?”

His enthusiasm was contagious. A grin spread across her face as she opened up the containers. “Good morning to you! And yes, breakfast for the drive up to Bristol, so we can explore right away.”

“Awesome, thanks, Zoey. And Bristol you said?” Max paused, thinking for a moment. “Nah, I still have no idea where we’re headed,” he said teasingly. He slid his backpack off his shoulder and set it on the floor between his feet before grabbing a container of fruit salad.

“Burgundy,” Zoey whispered under her breath, noting the color of his sweater.

“I’m sorry?” Max overheard, one eyebrow raised.

She froze. “Oh, nothing.” She prayed that he wouldn’t ask her again.

He must have decided to let it go. “I will say that I feel extremely privileged. Coffee, breakfast, a private driver-” he said, gesturing at Zoey. 

She giggled and waved him off, looking down at her coffee. 

He caught her eye, giving her an earnest smile. “No, really. Thank you Zoey. I really appreciate everything. You’ve made me feel so welcome since the day I arrived. I hope you know that I consider you a friend. A good friend.”

Zoey’s heart warmed to know that he considered her a friend. It was easy with Max. He was so open and giving.

“That’s really sweet of you to say,” she said softly. “I feel the same way.” Max’s smile broadened. 

“Besides, I don’t mind driving,” she replied, returning his smile. “Especially when adventures are involved.”

“And surprises,” he offered, spearing some strawberries with a fork.

“Yes, surprises,” Zoey echoed. “I suppose I can’t keep you completely in the dark. Like I said, we’re driving north to Bristol. It’s roughly a ninety minute drive, with beautiful scenery along the way.”

“There’s no one I’d rather have hold me hostage,” he quipped, giving her a wink.

Zoey turned on her turning signal and busied herself with merging onto the main road, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

As was to be expected, the pair talked non-stop for the entire first hour of the drive. On this occasion they listed favorite movies, authors, and travel destinations. Zoey pointed out quaint towns and landmarks as they skirted the coast. Once they left the highway, the road they traveled was heavily wooded, with a thick canopy of green above. The car turned and twisted through the trees, until they emerged into a clearing, the rocky coast now visible. Zoey made a final turn and slowed down, signaling that they had arrived.

She smiled to herself when she heard Max’s sharp intake of breath. “A lighthouse!” 

“Here we are,” she said, inwardly delighted that he seemed pleased. “You can actually go in this one and climb up. It’s the only one in this part of the state that I know of that allows you to.”

Zoey parked the car and the pair got out, Max’s eyes fixed on the tall structure, stark white against the dark, rocky cliffs. They paused briefly to settle the entrance fee to the park and then headed off in the direction of the lighthouse.

“Have you ever been here before?” Max asked as they made their way down the path. 

Zoey shook her head. “No. I’ve been to Bristol, but never to the lighthouse.” Max smiled at her. (1)

Feeling emboldened, Zoey added, “I guess I was just waiting for the right moment.”

Max stopped walking and turned toward her. “Looks like I got here just in time.” His eyes were sparkling.

_ Good God.  _

Zoey knew he meant what he said in a teasing way, but he was right. She felt like she was seeing everything with new eyes, with a new enthusiasm. Zoey felt as if there were an invisible thread between them. Every time they spent time with one another it was as if there was another stitch was added, knitting them together. 

The gravel path they were on steepened gradually, giving way to slowly sloping shelves of rock. Scraggy but proud pines framed the clearing. They traveled down until they could go no further, balancing on the craggy slabs with their striations of ivory, navy, and rust.

They spent time hopping from rock to rock, being careful to avoid the shallow recesses filled with water and deposits of churned up mussel shells. Terns and eiders bobbed in the water, their black caps barely discernible atop the deep blue water.

Zoey wandered to the end of one rock that jutted defiantly into the ocean, feeling the salt spray. She peeked over the edge, closing her eyes as she listened to the relentless crash of the waves against the rocks. Max joined her on the rock she had claimed, and for a minute the two stood side by side, staring out at the choppy sea. 

Zoey was struck by a sudden urge to reach out to hold his hand. She took a deep breath, and was just about to do so, when Max shifted his weight. He turned slightly to look up at the lighthouse, and Zoey observed him, watched him in profile. The wind picked up his curls and tossed them around. He caught her eye and grinned at her.

“Shall we go up?” he asked, his voice betraying his enthusiasm.

The moment had passed. Zoey smiled up at him. “We shall,” she replied.

The two of them retraced their steps across the rocks and back onto the relative safety of the grass surrounding the lighthouse. As it was early on a Sunday, there were only a few others on the property, and they were busy snapping photos.

Max and Zoey stepped over the threshold. Inside, it was cool and chamber-like, the sound structure cutting off the wail of the wind. The original brick of the interior was unpainted, making it vaguely reminiscent of a wine cellar. Zoey looked straight up through the center and caught a glimpse of the peaked ceiling. Max gave a nod and they carefully climbed the spiral staircase, their voices echoing off the walls.

After a short but dizzying climb, they emerged into the lantern room. The center was occupied by the large lens, which was larger than Zoey had imagined, and resembled an Art Deco chandelier. It was a cozy, lofted space, enclosed by glass at the top and paneled wood on the bottom. (2) She felt like she had traveled back in time.

The small group of tourists they had passed by earlier had dispersed, with only a few remaining on the grass below. Zoey and Max were alone in the lighthouse. 

They walked over to the side closest to the shore, peering out from above. 

“Is this satisfying your lighthouse author fantasies?” she teased.

Max’s eyes were still on the rocky outcropping visible through the window.

“Absolutely,” he replied breathlessly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin Moleskine notebook, pausing for a moment to jot down a few lines. Then he looked up, his eyes locking with hers. 

“Zoey. Thank you for bringing me here.”

The way he looked at her made her feel alive. He looked at her like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

The intensity of his gaze brought a flush to her cheeks. “Of course. I’m happy you like it.”

Max hesitated, the notebook still in his hand.

“Would it be all right if I read you something?”

Zoey’s heart skipped a beat. It meant a lot that Max wanted to share his writing with her. She recognized that this was an intimate gesture.

Zoey nodded. “Of course. I’d love that.”

Max cleared his throat and flipped back to another page. He began to read in a low, even tone:

_ Beyond this time he cannot see _

_ The road to “before” long since washed out _

_ It leaves him nostalgic for a life he had not lived _

_ Heartbroken for a love that was not his _

_ The only choice now to surge forward _

_ Yesterday already having left with the tide _

Max closed the notebook and returned it silently to his pocket, resuming his position at the window. Zoey’s heart thudded in her chest. His work was as beautiful and vulnerable as she had imagined. She had such an intense reaction to what he had read that a few minutes passed before she spoke.

“Max, that was very moving. Your voice is clear and confident.”

_ Sexy. _

He smiled softly at her. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

They stood side by side, staring out through the windows. The waves' confrontation with the rocks seemed even more contentious than before.

Taking herself by surprise, she said, “I wrote something yesterday. I mean, it could be the start of something.” Her eyes flitted over to him, nervous.

He turned to face her. “That’s really great, Zoey,” he replied, smiling encouragingly. “I hope it turns into something for you.”

“Me, too,” she replied, without pretense.

As if it were quite natural to do so, Max took her hand in his and led the way down. Together they carefully descended the winding staircase, Zoey was keenly aware of how her hand felt in his. There was no hiding her disappointment when they reached the bottom and he dropped her hand gently.

  
  


_ He was helping you down the stairs, Zo. _

  
  


Zoey fought to get her emotions under control. “So I was thinking, we could stop in Portland on the way back for a late lunch. It’s a little over an hour from here.” She paused, biting her lip. “That is, if you’d like to.”

They stepped outside into the fresh air, and discovered that the breeze had picked up.“Of course,” Max replied agreeably. “You know all the good places. I trust you completely,”

They strolled casually back to the parking lot, waving goodbye to the caretaker as they passed through the gate. Inside the car was quiet, in stark contrast to the crashing waves and the whipping of the wind.

Getting back on the road, they dove into a conversation about the lighthouse, Max waxing poetic about the white-washed walls and the sea-blackened cliffs. Before they knew it, they were in the city of Portland. Zoey had elected to stop at Duckfat, a delicious restaurant with an amusing name. (3) 

Predictably, the food was not particularly light, and the two of them sauntered back to the car under darkening skies, feeling comfortably full. They weren’t far from home now, and Zoey was glad that whatever storm was rolling in had allowed them to explore the lighthouse earlier in the day. A mist turned to light rain that tapped gently on the glass. She had tasked Max with choosing a playlist for the remainder of the trip, and he sat scrolling through options as they sat at the light, waiting to turn to pass through Dock Square.

It started to rain harder. She adjusted the setting on the windshield wipers when the realization hit her. 

She had left the skylights in the shop open. 

“Fuck!” Zoey exclaimed out loud.

Max jumped in his seat and grasped the armrest. “What’s wrong?!”

She did not find it possible to speak articulately at the moment. The look of alarm and concern on Max’s face forced her to string a few words.

“It’s raining... the shop...oh, my God.”

After what seemed an eternity, the light finally turned green and Zoey turned onto Western Ave, thankful that the rain kept the streets relatively clear. Soon they were in front of the shop, and Zoey hastily parked the car in what was absolutely an illegal spot. She had scarcely turned off the ignition when she threw off her seat belt and took her keys in her hand, searching for the one that opened the shop.

The two of them jumped out of the car at the same time. Zoey spun on her heel and started running, Max following closely behind. “Why are you running?” he called after her.

“Books and water don’t mix!”

A shot of adrenaline must have helped her to get the key in the lock the first time. She flung the door open and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Max was right behind her.

They burst inside not bothering to turn on the lights. Zoey raced to the back of the shop, reaching up onto her tiptoes to crank the handle of one of the skylights. Max quickly understood their mission and did the same with the one next to her.

The job was done. Zoey ran a hand over the window frame, and felt no trace of moisture.

Max raked a hand through his hair and glanced around. “I don’t think anything was damaged. You realized just in time.”

“Oh, thank God,” she panted. “And thank you, Max. Sorry for not explaining.” He nodded his understanding.

Zoey staggered back in relief and leaned against one of the bookshelves in the corner, her chest heaving. She shook her head gently, sending tiny droplets of water flying. Max still stood under the window, drawing in deep breaths.

Zoey’s back was pressed up against the shelf. She stood perfectly still. Her heart was still pounding, but she didn’t know if it was from sprinting up the stairs or the fact that the two of them were in a dark room, hearing only the sound of their breathing.

“Max.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

In the dim light, she saw him turn his head sharply. After a moment, he stalked soundlessly towards her, stopping right in front of where she stood. 

He was so close that she could watch the rise and fall of his chest. He braced one arm on the bookshelf behind her, leaning closer.

“Zoey, you should know that I…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

She held her breath. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Max reached over and tucked a tendril of copper hair behind her ear.

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

Zoey looked up into his eyes. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“What I’ve been dying to do for weeks,” he replied, leaning down and kissing her soundly.

Zoey had no time to be shocked. She reciprocated eagerly, reaching her hands to the back of his neck and running them through his hair, still damp from the rain.

The confirmation from Zoey seemed to dissolve any reserve that Max held, and he pulled her to him so their bodies were flush together. He ran his hand down her torso and across her hip, pausing for a moment before continuing down the back of her thigh. With a sudden movement that caused Zoey to let out a gasp, he hitched up her right leg, pressing himself even closer to her. Her head lolled back to rest against the bookshelf and Max took that as in invitation to press his lips to her neck, working his way down to her collarbone. 

Zoey’s hands slid down to his chest and with an immense effort, she drew his attention away from her neck, calling his name softly. His eyes met hers questioningly, his hands dropping to circle her waist.

Zoey nodded at him, her hands sliding down further and tugging at the hem of his sweater. Max quickly acquiesced, reaching down to pull it over his head, tossing it onto the ground. She bit her lip and smiled, delighted to discover that what was under the sweater was even better.

Zoey was very glad that the shop was closed on Sundays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pemaquid Point Lighthouse Info:  
> https://www.bristolmaine.org/sites/g/files/vyhlif4191/f/uploads/lhp_brochure_0.pdf  
> Pemaquid Point Video:  
> https://youtu.be/XukZHpZaJIM 
> 
> 2\. Lantern Room, Pemaquid Point Light https://i.pinimg.com/originals/da/e4/80/dae480c51dd446f130c163d644184d20.jpg 
> 
> 3\. Restaurant: Duckfat, Portland, Maine:  
> https://www.duckfat.com/


	7. The Woman in White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey and Max receive an unexpected guest at the book shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for the mood of this fic: Creep, Radiohead (cover by Kina Grannis)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sO-XQJnXhiM  
> ^^^Read into that what you will
> 
> A huge thank you to AubreyRichman for helping me to spin a web of angst. ;)
> 
> *waves to Discord loves*

**Chapter 7: The Lady in White**

  
  


_ Pero se van tiñendo con tu amor mis palabras. _

_ Todo lo ocupas tú, todo lo ocupas. _

“Para que tú me oigas”

_ But my words become stained with your love. _

_ You occupy everything, you occupy everything. _

“So That You Will Hear Me”

-Pablo Neruda

  
  
  


Zoey’s mind was wandering, and she seemed powerless to stop it. She sat at her desk in the book shop, looking over papers but not really seeing. A few early-bird customers had filtered through that morning, but otherwise, business was pretty slow. This was a blessing in disguise, especially considering how distracted Zoey was.

Last night had been...decisive.

Max had kissed her for the first time, but like he thought it might be the last time.

It wasn’t.

Her traitorous mind kept replaying snapshots of the night before: a salty sheen of sweat, the feel of skin on skin, the tremble of her legs when it had all become too much...

She reached her hand up to her collarbone, fingers brushing over the skin cautiously, as if expecting to find a burn. 

Zoey shook her head, trying to clear it of the memories of last night. She knew that they had gotten caught up in the moment. She couldn’t imagine that Max saw any of this as a long term thing, but it was certainly fun.

She eyed the notebook that was sitting on her desk. She had finally gathered the courage to bring it with her today, with the intention of sharing a bit with Max, if the opportunity arose. She had butterflies in her stomach. She knew she wasn’t a real writer like he was, but she hoped that sharing what she’d worked on could help her creatively. He made her feel creative. He made her feel brave.

Just then, the object of her distraction came up the stairs and around the corner, dropping a bag on the armchair. She felt the heat of his gaze before she had even looked up. She waited an extra moment before doing so, knowing that when she did, whatever shreds of self-control she had left would dissolve.

“Good morning, Zoey,” Max said simply. His expression was bright and calm.

“Good morning,” she echoed. His eyes were searching, and she felt oddly shy. She didn’t know what to say. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded. “Yes, I did, thank you. You?”

_ Like I had just run a marathon. _

“I did, yes.” She let out a wry laugh. “Sorry to be so awkward, I’m just…”

Max smiled. “It’s okay. I know what you mean.” He drew in a breath, evidently confronted with a few memories of his own.

“Anyway, I just got a text alert from The Candyman: new stock alert.”

Zoey laughed, grateful for the change of subject. “My, aren’t you the local.”

He grinned. “I’m trying. Anyway, they have a few new flavors of fudge that they’re trying out, and they’re asking for fans of the shop to be the guinea pigs.”

She raised her hand. “That is a task I will gladly undertake, for the good of all humanity.”

Max chuckled. “I figured as much. I’ll run over there and see what the deal is. Then we can make our judgments. Sound good?”

Zoey sighed contentedly. “That sounds perfect.”

Max flashed her a brilliant smile. “Okay, I’ll be back in a bit.” Before he left, he leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to Zoey’s forehead. Before she could even react, he had disappeared down the stairs.

\----

Zoey looked up from her paperwork at the sound of the bell on the door below. She expected it to be Max, and picked up her notebook to have it at the ready. Then she noticed that the footsteps were much too light to be his. Soon enough, a young woman emerged from the top of the staircase.

She was tall and lithe, and carried herself with poise and self-possession, like someone who might have once studied dance. She had straight, glossy, brown hair, and she was wearing a crisp white sundress. She looked effortlessly cool, despite the midday heat, as if sweating was something that other people did.

Of course, she was beautiful but she was also- what was the word?  _ Lovely.  _ The woman stepped soundlessly across the floorboards to where Zoey stood behind the counter.

Zoey noticed that her eyes settled for a brief moment on the area where Max’s notes were neatly arranged next to his laptop.

The woman browsed politely, pausing to ask about a series of local autobiographies on display.

She had an untraceable accent, although undoubtedly American. She seemed to choose her words carefully, and she spoke like someone who spent her time studying other languages.

Zoey answered her questions, and she became absorbed in a display of local art. Zoey continued her work at the desk.

A few minutes later, Zoey heard footsteps, and Max became visible, calling out a greeting. She and the young woman turned toward the sound.

“Sorry, they didn’t have peanut butter, so I got walnut. I hope...” He didn’t finish his sentence. In fact, he had stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Alecia.”

Zoey froze. It suddenly dawned on her who this mysterious woman was.

Max’s face drained of all color. He looked at her, then to Zoey, then back at her. He seemed to recover himself. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked flatly. 

The other woman seemed taken aback by his tone, but she weathered it well. 

“Well, I came to see you. That is, I came to talk to you.”

Max paused to stare at her, incredulous.

“To talk to me?” Max’s voice was sharp. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

She held up her hands in front of her. “Max, I came here with no expectations for how this would go, for how you would react…” She trailed off. “But I just had to see you.”

Max’s arms were crossed in front of him, but his posture softened slightly, not in relief, but in defeat. 

When he spoke, his words were brief and clipped. “Fine. You can say what you came to say. But we’re not doing this here.”

He set the box of fudge on the counter, then gestured with one hand to the french doors. He glanced over at Zoey, trying to catch her eye but she glanced down at her lap, not wanting any part of this.

She watched as they walked out to the deck, their backs turned to her. 

Zoey felt like throwing up. Her fingers gripped the worn wood of the counter until they ached. She stood absolutely for a minute, trying to gather her thoughts, but her mind was a helpless jumble. The two of them were on the deck for a few minutes longer before they opened the door to come back in. She quickly averted her eyes and attempted to look busy at her desk.

Max looked up at Zoey as he hastily put away his materials and she finally willed herself to look at him. His face was a lesson in misery.

“I have to leave for a bit,” he said tightly. “This was obviously very...unexpected.”

She nodded her acknowledgement. She wasn’t sure if he noticed.

The woman or rather,  _ Alecia _ , waited by the stairs for him to collect his things.

Two sets of footsteps disappeared down the stairs, along with two voices speaking in hushed tones.

The door closed behind them. Then silence.

Zoey collapsed into her chair and laid her head down on her arms.

  
  


\----

Zoey hadn’t cried.

She couldn’t.

After indulging herself in a few minutes’ self-pity, Zoey had called for Amanda. Gina, by some good grace, had been in the stock room, and hadn’t witnessed the sordid scene. When Amanda appeared, she had told her that she needed to take the rest of the day off. She had kept her phrasing simple, but she imagined that the look on her face spoke volumes. 

Her loyal co-worker had readily agreed, even helped Zoey to pack her belongings into her bag. She must have noticed that she was in a daze. Zoey reached for her journal and stowed it quickly, the memory of its newly-written contents stinging a little. She had nodded her thanks, thrusting the box of fudge into Amanda’s hands as she left. In fifteen minutes, Zoey was home.

\----

Presently, she trudged across the sand, in her haste kicking up clouds of sand that stung her calves. The sky was full of clouds tinged with grey. 

_ Good,  _ she thought darkly _. I hope it pours. _

It was no surprise that she was headed to the jetty, eager to get lost, Maybe the whipping of the wind would drown out her thoughts.

No such luck. Her thoughts tumbled out in sharp fragments, shards that cut her as they fell.

She hadn’t cried. What was there to cry about?

Max wasn’t her boyfriend. They weren’t together.

They’d known each other less than a month.

They’d spent a night together. 

_ He wasn’t hers. _

She thought about Alecia, and how incredibly lovely she was. She could see why Max had been drawn to her. She was ethereally beautiful, carrying an elegance and polish of which most could only dream. 

By now she had reached the end of the jetty. Below her the black-blue sea churned angrily. Zoey sighed, kicking at pebbles with the toe of her shoe, sending them flying into the water below.

So if all of that was true, why was she so upset?

_ Because she had fallen in love with him. _

The realization threatened to pull her under.

Was this her fate in life? To only come to realizations about her life when she saw it mirrored in someone else’s? When would it be hers?

_ He wasn’t hers to lose. _

Zoey couldn’t cry. But she could scream.

She turned again to face the water, thankful that she was alone on the jetty. She opened her mouth and let out a strangled cry, the rawness of the sound taking her a bit by surprise. She took a deep breath and screamed again, louder this time, until her throat burned with the effort. With that, she felt something break inside her, and the tears finally flowed freely.

Zoey sank to her knees, exhausted. She put her hand up to her face, stained with salt.  It was impossible to know if it was from the sea spray or her own tears.

She felt like she couldn’t get enough air. She couldn’t fill her lungs.

_ He wasn’t hers to mourn. _

Was she acting out?

Damn right, she was. And it was about time. She had been suppressing things for too long. Now the realizations kept coming without mercy.

Max had held up a mirror to her, allowing her to see herself in a way that she hadn’t before. 

He encouraged her to tell stories, not by being an author, but simply because of the way he lived his life. When she was around Max, everything suddenly held the potential for narrative: the people passing by as she walked, the sound of the wind through the trees, the color of the sea. It had taken Max’s arrival to force her to see her hometown in a new light. Recreating the simple joys of a life by the shore had reminded her to participate and enjoy, as well. Everything had breath. And Zoey had learned to breathe more deeply, too.

More than anything, Max helped her to see the potential for a different narrative about herself. He always asked her about what was next, forcing her to consider. Before, she hadn’t made space for  _ more.  _ She had  _ enough.  _ And now that she’d had a taste of more, there was no going back. Everything else felt like settling.

This is what she was mourning. The way that he encouraged her to be the best version of herself, without asking anything of her.

So, yes. She did love Max. But she was mourning more than just the opportunity for love. She was mourning a chance at a version of herself he had shown her. For a brief moment, she had dared to hope that maybe they’d step into that, together.

That hope seemed far away now. Now, Zoey was alone, her only companions the howl of the wind and the roar of the sea below.

  
  



	8. Things Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey avoids an inevitable conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Sorry for the delay with this chapter. I'm a teacher who has had more meetings and trainings than ever. 
> 
> As you know, Zoey doesn't have her powers in this story, but I wanted to include a few lyrics to a song that I listened to on repeat while writing this chapter:
> 
> I don't know why every time that I think of home  
> I can picture you standing in the cold  
> But I, I'm scared 'cause I don't know  
> If you and I are in the same boat  
> If I had the chance  
> If you asked out of the blue  
> How I really truly feel about you  
> I don't have a clue how that would go  
> Oh, if I had the chance  
> Would I really tell you?
> 
> Lizzy McAlpine, “Same Boat” - https://youtu.be/v8kJQgayZoE
> 
> It's insanely beautiful and I recommend you play either before or while reading.
> 
> Thank you to AubreyRichman, my angsty collaborator on this chapter (can you see I'm already trying to avoid some of the heat?)
> 
> Hello to the lovely and talented Discord people!

**Chapter 8: Things Fall Apart**

  
  


_ Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. _

_ Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada, _

_ y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos". _

  
  


_ I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. _

_ Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars, _

_ and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." _

-Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines)

-Pablo Neruda

  
  
  


Predictably, Zoey woke with the dawn. This time she didn’t go outside to greet the sunrise, thinking to herself that the jetty had seen enough drama for a while. Instead she sat up in bed, something that took immense effort given the throbbing in her head. Zoey sat absentmindedly, legs tangled in bedsheets and eyes unfocused as she watched the early rays of sunlight make their way across her bedroom wall. She wasn’t sure if the fatigue she felt was emotional or physical. She had slept but she had not rested. 

After her time on the beach yesterday, she had trudged home slowly, in no particular hurry to go anywhere. She passed the time watching TV, wanting to pass the time with something dark that matched her mood. Eventually she settled on a documentary on the bloody Iranian Revolution. 

Just before one A.M, eyes burning, she had dug through her bag for her glasses case and came across her journal. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands but not daring to open it. It taunted her silently. Zoey remembered its contents and how the lines inside had been written under such different circumstances just two days prior. The memory stung and Zoey startled herself when she flung it hard across the room. She had found little satisfaction in the thud it made as it hit the wall and fell to the floor.

Presently she rubbed at her eyes. Her throat was still raw. Everything felt slightly fuzzy and out of focus. Maybe that was her mind’s way of protecting her. Zoey heaved a sigh and forced herself to get out of bed and into the shower. Maybe going through the motions of a normal day would help.

Zoey had arrived at the shop an hour earlier than usual, for reasons she couldn’t recall now. Perhaps she had just not known what else to do. She passed the extra time by throwing herself into a mountain of paperwork, reorganizing files and doing whatever mindless tasks she could think of. When Amanda came in, Zoey asked if she’d be willing to man the front while she worked on shelving new inventory. This was out of the ordinary, but Amanda didn’t ask what prompted this change. Instead, she opted to hand over the inventory list, giving Zoey’s shoulder a friendly squeeze as she left for the register.

For about twenty minutes, Zoey lost herself in the monotony of shelving books. The shop was quiet, and for a moment, she could fool herself into feeling that everything was as it had been before.

  
  


_ Before he had come. Before she had fallen in love with him. _

  
  


Then she heard Gina’s animated voice announce a greeting, which was returned by the low tones of a man’s voice.  _ Max. _

Zoey squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and mouthed a silent curse. She left her exposed position and ducked behind a corner bookcase, partially obscuring her from view. She clutched a hardcover volume hard, her knuckles turning white. She held her breath and turned, keeping her back to the passageway between shelves.

Zoey didn’t have to wait long. She sensed Max’s presence behind her as he turned the corner, discovering her sorry excuse for a hiding spot.

“Ah, there you are,” he called out, approaching at a leisurely pace.

She didn’t turn around.

“I wanted to find you so that we could talk about yesterday.”

  
  


_ Please, no. I can’t bear it. _

  
  


She continued shelving books, keeping her back to him. It was silly and rude, but part of her wanted to postpone the inevitable, even if it was only for a few moments longer.

As he got closer, the familiar scent of his cologne reached her where she stood. Her eyes filled with tears and she clawed desperately for control. He couldn’t see her cry, not now.

“Zoey?” Max’s voice was questioning. He kept walking until he was standing right behind her.

“Zoey, please look at me,” Max’s voice pleaded. 

At his words, what little resolve she had left crumbled, and tears began to stream down her face.

He took hold of her shoulder and gently turned her to face him.

She finally relented, but kept her eyes low, afraid to look him in the eye.

He immediately noticed that she was crying, reaching out one hand to gently tip up her chin. 

“What is this about?” he murmured, his face distressed.

  
  


_ Was he kidding? What was this about? _

  
  


Zoey sniffed and let out an exasperated sigh, wiping roughly at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. “Really Max? It’s about the fact that your gorgeous ex-girlfriend showed up out of the blue.” 

She fought for composure, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to slow her tears. “You guys rushed out, presumably to talk, fine. Then I didn’t see or hear from you for the rest of the day.” She let her arms flop at her sides, deflated.

Max nodded, properly chided. “I should have called, I know, but by the time I finally left her it was after midnight. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I was awake,” Zoey snapped, her voice louder than she had anticipated.

Understanding was dawning on Max’s face. “Zoey, I’m really sorry. The reason I didn’t come back was because the whole thing took much longer than I thought it would. And to be honest, the experience was pretty draining. I realized a lot after the talk she and I had.”

He took a deep breath and then smiled. He seemed nervous and Zoey couldn’t understand why.

  
  


_ Why was he smiling?! Was he trying to let her down easy?  _

  
  


Her stubborn streak was getting the best of her. She smirked at him. “Yeah, I’m sure you realized a lot of things.” 

Max’s smile faltered and he looked confused. For a split-second Zoey felt bad. She knew she was being a bitch but she just didn’t have it in her to play nice right now.

Max began again. “Well, yeah. What I came to tell you was that-”

Zoey knew it was ungracious of her but she broke in. She was completely out of control but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “What about Alecia?” 

“Alecia?” he repeated, spitting out her name like poison. “What about her?”

She stared at him, incredulous.

Max looked over his shoulder. “We can’t have this conversation here.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the corridor and into the store room, closing the door discreetly behind them.

Zoey looked around at the stacks of cold brew and water, wondering how they had come to this point. She felt like the floor might drop from under her at any moment but she needed to get it out.

“She’s lovely, Max. She’s poised, and accomplished. She speaks fluent French. And she’s more...she’s more...”

“She’s more what?”

“She’s more than I will ever be, Max.”

Max looked utterly shocked. He opened his mouth to speak but Zoey continued.

“Maybe I made a mistake. For a while I thought that there was a spark between us, and that it could be something real. But I can see now that you just needed to get your footing before you got back in the game, so to speak. You needed to heal. And I guess I understand that, even though it kills me.”

She summoned enough courage to keep speaking, even though her voice was shaking. “But I want you to know, Max, that I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you this summer. It’s been really special.”

  
  


_ And I love you.  _

  
  


But this she couldn’t say. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway.

With this, Max finally spoke up. “Zoey, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Zoey stared up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d come in. His eyes showed hurt, and something else.  _ Fear? _

“Look, Max. It was nice of you to come back and clear the air.” She felt her throat starting to close and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she started sobbing. She took a step forward, attempting to slip out the door behind him, but Max reached out and grabbed her by both arms, pinning her to the spot.

The look on his face was frantic. “Zoey, what do you think happened yesterday?”

Her own eyes were still glassy with tears. “I think Alecia came back and apologized for what happened and now you’re considering giving it another shot.”

“That’s not at all what happened,” Max replied, his voice firm.

Zoey struggled halfheartedly against his grasp. His hands slipped to her wrists.

“One part is true: She did come here looking for a new start. She wanted to forget the past. Or wanted me to.” Max closed his eyes briefly, remembering. 

“I’m sorry her being here hurt you. That’s what she does best.” He heaved a sigh. “I guess the old saying, ‘Hurt people hurt people’ really applies here.” 

Max persevered, finally succeeding at catching her eye. “You know what I told her? I told her it was done! That I’m starting something with someone new that I think could be amazing.” He paused, his jaw tense with emotion. 

“When it finally sunk in that things were over, truly over, she fell apart. She became hysterical, couldn’t even stand on her own.” He winced at the memory. “I drove her to her hotel so at least she was in a safe place. I sat there in a chair while she had a breakdown over all her past mistakes. I stayed with her until she was calm.”

Max took her hands in his. “The whole thing was horrible, but it really forced perspective. I finally felt brave enough to tell you how I feel about you.”

“No,” Zoey whispered hoarsely, shaking her head violently.

“Why won’t you believe me?” Max tried desperately to read her expression but she kept turning her head away as her tears persisted. The anguish in his voice was unmistakable.

Zoey wiped angrily at the tears that kept falling and turned to look at him. "If I let myself believe that someone like you could be interested in someone like me, then everything is upside down. If I’m being one hundred percent honest, I really care about you. I just don’t think I could live with being your second choice."

“Second choice?! You were NEVER my second choice!” He released her hands.

"You actually thought that I would get back with her after she broke my heart? After what you and I have shared? I can't believe you think I'd be capable of something like that."

Max recoiled like she’d struck him. 

Zoey’s mind was reeling. She felt unsteady on her feet. It couldn’t be real. The look of pain and shock on his face, however, was.

Max shook his head. “And while I’m telling her that she would never be that person for me again, here you are doubting me!”

He chuckled humorously. “Wow, Zoey. I never had you pinned for self sabotage.”

She’d made a terrible misjudgment. Her mind scrambled to piece things together. Was Max really saying that he felt the same way about her? How quickly she’d jumped to conclusions.

"What have we been doing this whole time, Zoey? Have we been two friends hanging out? Because to me, it felt like a hell of a lot more than that.”

She stared up at him silently, blinking away fresh tears.

“I’m falling for you, Zoey. If I’m being honest, I have been since the very beginning. You aren’t a rebound. You aren’t a placeholder. You aren’t someone I’m using to get over a broken heart. And I wouldn’t -- I would never --” He shook his head sadly. 

His eyes looked into hers without mercy, his gaze unflinching. “This wasn’t a summer fling, Zoey. You’re someone I was vulnerable with for the first time in a long time.” 

Zoey’s nerves felt frayed at the edges. She felt him slipping further and further away. She found herself reaching for him, only to let her hands fall to her sides a second later.

“Max, if I could...you should know that…” Her voice broke off roughly. She was filled with remorse.

Either consciously or unconsciously, Max had edged his way closer to the door, something Zoey hadn’t even noticed. “I may be a writer but that doesn’t mean I live in a fantasy land. I’m able to see when something is real. Well, at least I thought I was.” He cast his eyes to the floor.

The sound of silence between them was deafening.

“Maybe this is where it ends.” He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes were dull, his trademark grin extinguished. 

“It’s a shame I never got to hear what you wrote.”

With that he turned abruptly, yanking the door open, letting it clang closed noisily behind him. 

Just like that, he was gone.

Zoey leaned a hand against the wall to steady herself, a ragged cry escaping her lips. The edges of her vision blurred as she cried, barely even registering when Gina entered the storeroom a few moments later, gathering her in her arms.

  
  
  



	9. Atonement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey deals with the aftermath of her disastrous conversation with Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Sorry for the longer delays in between chapters. School is starting up again next week, and things are crazy, to say the least.
> 
> I want to give a big thank you to the lovely people of Discord for all of their assistance with this chapter, particularly typicaleveragefangirl, who always come in clutch.
> 
> The following song is one that I listened to while writing this chapter.
> 
> Daniela Andrade-Shore: https://youtu.be/SCN0lZpQ1Lc 
> 
> A link to another one of Gina's famous playlists will be in the notes at the end.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for their support of this story.

**Chapter 9: Atonement**

  
  


_El amor supo entonces que se llamaba amor._

_Y cuando levanté mis ojos a tu nombre_

_tu corazón de pronto dispuso mi camino._

“Soneto LXXIII”

_Then love knew it was called love._

_And when I lifted my eyes to your name,_

_suddenly your heart showed me my way._

“Sonnet LXXIII”

-Pablo Neruda

  
  


The usual jovial nature of the shop had changed. Gone was the banter, the laughs. The silence was oppressive, or at least it seemed that way to Zoey. The four of them had fallen into a comfortable routine in recent days. That had now ceased. Max didn’t come into the shop the day before, nor had he texted or called. She hadn’t either.

It wasn’t because she hadn’t wanted to. Zoey wanted nothing more than to fall back into the comfortable habits she’d cultivated with Max over the last few weeks. If only she could turn back the clock. She longed to watch him scribble away in a notebook, his eyebrows knit together earnestly. She missed their lunch dates and leisurely walks, the sound of their laughter intermingling with the call of the gulls in the harbor. She missed the way he made her feel aware of everything at once. She missed being near him.

The carefree version of Zoey seemed to have vanished, replaced by a sullen one. It was as if the color had left her world. She completed her work mechanically, seeking every distraction. Unsurprisingly, Gina had taken the opportunity to perfectly capture Zoey’s mood with a somber playlist. The hazy, distorted feeling continued all morning, and she found that if she kept busy, she could feel just numb enough to function. To forget for just a moment what she had done. What she had lost.

Life did go on, incredibly. Tourists still came in, finishing ice cream cones while they browsed, exclaiming over the local art. The world continued to turn, despite the fact that Zoey felt frozen in time. Her mind replayed her conversation with Max over and over in her mind like a broken record. Again and again she cursed her stupidity. She had projected all of her insecurities onto Max, a man who had done nothing but encourage her to be herself. A fresh wave of regret washed over her as she gazed out the window, eyes unfocused.

The drone of hushed voices nearby startled her out of her introspection. A few aisles away, Amanda and Gina were huddled together, quite obviously talking about her. They both wore concerned expressions, and Zoey couldn’t help but overhear them as they whispered.

“I feel like we should say something. It feels wrong to just act like everything is normal,” Amanda murmured.

Gina shrugged. “At least she stopped crying. Should I change the playlist? Less Elliott Smith?” (1)

Amanda sighed. “I’m not good at this stuff. We don’t even know what happened. All we know is that Max hasn’t come by and Zoey looks like she's waiting for his ghost walk through the door.”

Zoey had heard enough. She cleared her throat and turned away from the windows, causing Amanda and Gina’s heads to snap up.

“Hey, Zo,” said Amanda softly. “Finished with that set?” She held out her hands to accept the empty box that Zoey held. 

“Huh? Oh, yes. Thanks,” Zoey replied, passing it to her. 

There was a moment of awkward silence, as no one really knew what to say. It didn’t bother Zoey. It was enough to know they cared. She didn’t have any answers, either.

She forced a smile. “So, any new inventory?”

Gina’s expression brightened. “Actually, on your desk, there’s a--”

She was interrupted by Amanda, who smacked her on the arm. “Now’s not the time,” she hissed.

“Oh, right.” Gina looked down at the ground, properly chastised. 

“Not the time for what?” Zoey asked. Whatever it was, it couldn’t make her feel worse.

Amanda gave her a long look. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Zoey heaved a sigh. “Guys, really. Whatever it is, I can handle it.” With that, she turned and walked in the direction of her desk.

She immediately noticed something on the counter near the register. It was a rectangular package wrapped loosely in brown paper and tied with twine. Tucked into one side was a simple piece of white cardstock, printed with her name.

She immediately knew what it was. It was a copy of Max’s manuscript. 

Zoey clutched the volume in her hands and sat down in her desk chair. She took a deep breath and loosened the knot, freeing the volume of its paper. Carefully she lifted the title page, what she read there causing her to gasp, a hand fluttering to cover her mouth.

  
  


_For Zoey, my medicine and my muse._

  
  


Zoey’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. A solitary tear ran down her cheek, which she hastily brushed away. She turned the page and scanned through the first piece, a short story. Her eyes settled on these words:

  
  


**The rocks were jagged and impossibly slippery. The girl with the hair like fire paused, looking back over her shoulder.**

**“Where are you going?” he shouted, his voice half taken by the wind.**

**“Back where I came from, of course,” she replied, raising her arms over her head and diving gracefully into the surf.**

**It was always this way. Just like water, she slipped through his hands.**

  
  


Tears clouded her vision. She couldn’t read any further. Reverently, she closed the cover of the manuscript, tracing the title on the textured paper with her fingers. It read:

_On Foreign Shores_ by Maxwell Richman

Zoey was so absorbed in the book that she hadn’t even noticed that Amanda had come up to stand beside her. 

“Ah,” she remarked. “I see you found it.”

Zoey nodded wordlessly, still clutching it in her hands.

“Did you read any of it?” Amanda questioned.

“Some,” Zoey admitted. “Enough.” She sighed deeply. “It’s heartbreaking and beautiful, of course.”

Amanda smiled at her. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Zoey felt her eyes prick with fresh tears. She lowered her gaze to the manuscript cover, the words swimming before her eyes.

Amanda took a seat in the chair next to Zoey. “Now, I’m not going to pretend to know what happened between you two, but in the time that I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so miserable.” She placed a comforting hand on Zoey’s arm. “Why don’t you do talk to him?”

Zoey shook her head. “Impossible. There’s no way he’d even see me.” 

“You won’t know unless you try. Max is one of the most understanding people I’ve ever met. I bet he’d hear you out.”

Zoey shrugged helplessly. “I can’t, Amanda. I ruined everything. Besides, I don’t even know what I would say to him. Nothing he would want to hear, certainly.”

Amanda raised one eyebrow at Zoey and let out a low whistle.

Zoey wrinkled her nose. “What?”

Now it was Amanda’s turn to shake her head. “Zoey, let’s be real. I have seen the way that man looks at you.”

Zoey’s stomach did a flip, but she forced herself to focus on the reality of her situation.

“I said things I can’t take back. I betrayed his trust. He’s not even mad, Amanda, he’s...hurt.” She sighed. “And he’s hurt because of me.”

Amanda nodded. “Okay, so let’s assume all of that is true. You saw for yourself, his manuscript is finished. What happens if he packs up and decides to go back to New York? Can you live with yourself if you don’t even try to talk with him?”

Zoey’s heart panged at the thought. “No,” she responded. “No, I can’t.”

She let out a long breath. “I’m going to head home. Think things over. Maybe I can figure things out.”

Amanda patted Zoey’s arm a final time and together they stood. Zoey wrapped the manuscript loosely in the brown paper and tucked it into her bag. Together they walked to the head of the stairs.

“I would wish you good luck, Zo, but I don’t think you need it.”

Zoey gave her a wan smile in return. She was going to need something much stronger than luck.

\----

She got in her car and drove, on auto-pilot, not really knowing where she was headed. It wasn’t until she’d parked her car under the large aspen that she’d realized what she’d done.

Outside Max’s house, she turned off the ignition and sat back in the seat. Fate, it seemed, had directed her here. Now all she needed were the right words. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” seemed so insufficient.

Zoey got out of the car and headed in the direction of the house. Her feet felt heavy, her steps leaden. The gravel crunched underfoot. She couldn’t help but think back to the last time she had come to his house. How different the circumstances were! It had only taken her a week to run the entire thing into the ground.

As she got closer her stomach was overtaken by butterflies. She longed to see Max. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of the pain she’d see on his face. Never had she better understood the quote, _“Half agony, half hope.”_ (2)

After walking for what seemed an eternity, Zoey climbed the stairs to the porch and reached the front door. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked. Less than a minute later, she heard the sound of a latch being opened.

Max opened the door, a look of shock immediately registering on his face. He was wearing a sweater of deep emerald and his hair was messy. Soft music trickled in from the living room. Max opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it abruptly. He closed the door behind him and the two of them were left in silence on the front porch.

Max folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame, waiting.. His mouth was a hard line, but the warmth of his eyes betrayed his stoic posture. Behind his pain he was still Max. It was the tiny flicker of hope that allowed Zoey to speak.  
  
“I’m sorry for showing up out of the blue like this. I didn’t even set out with the intention of stopping here, but I guess it just happened.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. It was possible that she had never before been this nervous.

“Today I went to the shop, and it was full of people and still felt empty. It felt cold. And I realized it was because you weren’t there.”

Max swallowed visibly, but didn’t say anything. Zoey allowed herself to breathe a tiny bit. At least he was listening.

She continued. “I’m here because I want to apologize. I don’t have any expectations, I just want to because you deserve an apology. Many, actually.”

She had half expected to be in tears right now, but by some good grace, she was able to power through. 

“I’m sorry for accusing you of wanting to get back together with Alecia. There was no evidence for it, and I was speaking purely from my own insecurities.” 

Max broke in. “Zoey, you don’t need to do this.” 

His voice was flat and emotionless.

  
  
 _He’s trying to protect himself. From me._ _  
_   
  


Zoey’s heart clenched painfully at this realization, but it spurred her on. If this was the last time they spoke, she wanted to leave nothing unsaid.

“It’s the least I can do, Max. Please, let me finish.”

He nodded, and Zoey soldiered on.

“I’m sorry for painting you as someone who’s reckless with other people’s feelings, because nothing could be further from the truth. You’ve never given me any reason to doubt you.”

She could feel her throat begin to tighten and knew it wouldn’t be long before she would lose the ability to speak. 

“I’m sorry for acting like I had any say in how you spend your time, or in who you care for.” 

Zoey wasn’t brave enough to look him in the face, but she could have sworn she saw him wince at her last statement.

She let out a long sigh. “I see now that the entire situation was none of my business. I wanted to acknowledge that I was wrong, and that I’m sorry I hurt you. I wanted you to know before you left.”

Upon hearing this, Max’s eyes snapped to hers.

“Zoey, I wasn’t planning to leave.” His expression softened slightly, and he uncrossed his arms and let them fall to his sides.

There was a long pause. So long, in fact, that Zoey was already about to turn around and walk to her car.

Max cleared his throat and flicked his eyes cautiously in her direction.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gina’s Melancholy Mood Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3GYnKUMThSB8HIhhEbJpRy?si=olgSO1Q1T5WQT0covG2ffw 
> 
> From Jane’s Austen’s Persuasion: https://www.vox.com/culture/2017/2/14/14598536/persuasion-jane-austen-most-romantic-love-scene-letter-valentines-day


	10. The Remains of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking closure, Zoey and Max take a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I know it's been a while in between updates. Things are busy! I am thinking that this will be the second to last chapter, an epilogue of sorts. We'll see what happens.
> 
> Warning: You should make an appointment with your dentist immediately after reading. It'll rot your teeth.
> 
> A special thanks to AubreyRichman.

**Chapter 10: The Remains of the Day**

  
  
  
_   
_

_ we men, _

_ touch the water, _

_ struggling, _

_ and hoping, _

_ we touch the sea, _

_ hoping. _

_ And the waves tell the firm coast: _

_ 'Everything will be fulfilled.' _

“Ode to Hope”

_ nosotros, _

_ los hombres, _

_ junto al agua, _

_ luchando _

_ y esperando, _

_ junto al mar, _

_ esperando. _

_ Las olas dicen a la costa firme: _

_ “Todo será cumplido.” _

“Oda a la esperanza”   


-Pablo Neruda

  
  


“Do you want to go for a walk?”

Max’s question echoed in her ears. Zoey was so shocked that she didn’t respond right away. She nodded, stealing a glance at his face. His eyes were friendly, but his expression was still guarded.

The two of them walked through the backyard and across the grass to the breakwater, taking the steps down to the beach. Max waited while Zoey kicked off her sandals, and the pair set off in the direction of the water. The tide was out and the late afternoon sun reflected off the damp sand like a mirror. Together they walked in silence, the pace leisurely but devoid of their previous familiarity.

They made their way across the sand, together but apart. The gulls called out overhead, swooping and diving. Zoey’s mind raced, trying to summon the words that would convey how deeply sorry she was. When the two of them reached the water’s edge, they stopped. Max was staring out at the waves, squinting at the horizon. Neither seemed ready to break the silence.

After a minute, Zoey summoned the courage to speak up. “It’s okay, Max. You don’t have to be this nice. I already know.” She sighed, resignation in her voice.

He didn’t reply but she could tell that he was listening.

“I already know what you’re going to say. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. That’s enough.”

Max exhaled sharply and shook his head.

“What do you know, Zoey?” he challenged, his voice rising. He was still watching the surf intently, as if he were waiting for something. 

Zoey was taken aback. It was a moment before she spoke. “Look, I know that you’d never intentionally make this more difficult than necessary. You’re the kindest person I know.” She felt a flicker of hope when she noticed him take a step in her direction.   
  
“It’s been a little less than a month since we’ve met but I feel like I’ve gotten the opportunity to get a decent read on you.”

“And what have you learned?” Max asked. He had now turned completely and was facing her, his gaze piercing.

Zoey took a deep breath. Her mind was swirling with possibilities. Would it ever be possible to do him justice with words? He was still looking at her expectantly. She would have to try.

“I know that you like coffee but you love the ritual surrounding it more. You never drink it right away. You get distracted and you let it sit. That’s why you always order it iced instead of hot.”

A tiny smile appeared on her face.

“I know that you never go anywhere without a little notebook in case you need to write down a note or a story idea. You could just use your phone, but you like the paper better.”

Max said nothing but his eyes never left her.

“I know that when you’re working on an idea, you stare off into the distance, and it’s like you’re in some far-away place.”

Zoey’s voice began to tremble.

“I also know that I’ve looked forward to coming to work this summer more than I ever have, because there’s a chance that you’ll be here.”

By this time, her eyes were brimming with tears that threatened to spill over.

“I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to admit it, but more than anything, I know that I am helplessly in love with you, and with who I am when I’m with you.”

Max’s eyes widened. For a long moment he said nothing, and then a soft smile slowly took over his face. Then he looked at Zoey with an intensity that made her feel unsteady. He took another step toward her.

“Is that true?” Max asked.

She nodded, not trusting her voice at first. “Every word. No matter what happens, I’m just grateful that I got the chance to meet you.”

His expression had changed completely. The original stoicism had melted away, and was replaced with a look of disbelief. 

“Zoey, have you ever stopped to consider that maybe the opposite is true? That I’m the lucky one? I’m lucky that you even give me the time of day. I feel lucky just to be around you.”

Zoey scoffed.

Max was undeterred. “It’s true. I wish you could see what I see. You’re not the only one who knows things, okay?”

Her curiosity got the best of her. “Is that so?”

“It is,” he murmured. He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes.

“I know that your mind works incredibly fast. You're always a few steps ahead of me, and I like that.”

Zoey bit her lip and glanced down at the sand.

“I know that because of that, you can also make me laugh harder than any other person I have ever met.”

This seemed ludicrous to Zoey, because to her, Max was the funniest person she knew. She was about to argue with him, but was startled when he took another step toward her and took one of her hands in his.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, but even more so because you seem to have no awareness of it.” 

Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She summoned the courage to look up at Max’s face and she was overwhelmed by the look of adoration on his face.

“You, Zoey Clark, are exquisite. And you deserve to be reminded of that every day, because you seem to forget it so easily.” He wrapped one arm around her waist. Zoey’s breath caught in her throat.

“When we fought back at the store, at first I was upset because you thought that I was interested in getting back together with Alecia. I couldn’t believe it. I was angry.”

Zoey dropped her head contritely, but Max rubbed a hand soothingly down her back.

“When I’d had a moment to think it over, I realized that I wasn’t angry. Not at you. I was angry with myself, for not making my feelings clearer.”   
  
Max’s free hand rose to rest on her shoulder, tracing a lazy pattern down her arm. The warmth of his touch was intoxicating, but she didn’t dare move.

“I love going on walks with you, Zoey. I want to go on adventures with you, and hear what you’re writing. I want to share everything with you, because I’m not afraid anymore.”

He glanced down at the ground. For a second, Zoey thought he was deep in thought, but when he lifted his head to gaze at her, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“You took down all my walls, Zoey.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I love you.”

She was stunned into silence. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. His words were like a brand, and they filled her with warmth. 

With slow, deliberate movements, still a bit afraid to break the spell, Zoey reached up and circled her arms around his back. Her head fell to rest over his heart, her hands tangling in the thick wool of his sweater. Max pulled her tighter to him and Zoey sighed contentedly, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

For a long moment they remained like that, an intimate silhouette backed by the brilliant sky. The incoming tide was pooling around them where they stood. Finally, Zoey lifted her head and smiled up at Max.

“So, you really love me, huh?”

Max’s face was beaming. “I really do.”

Zoey closed her eyes, still unable to believe that this was real. 

“Part of me can’t believe that I could ever deserve you, but that is something else I have to work on.”

Max smiled down at her. “Take my word for it?”

“Yes,” Zoey whispered.

And he kissed her, the early evening breeze stirring the scent of the beach roses.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. https://live.staticflickr.com/8478/8174818064_bc15c203a9_b.jpg (Sunrise, John Dalton)
> 
> 2\. https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7b/a4/7e/7ba47e3c3b2d0866820a41051c406521.jpg (Jetty, Wells Beach, Maine (not the same beach from the story, but I took some liberties). Both are lovely.
> 
> 3\. New Slang, The Shins-https://youtu.be/vIJhYBtnsEU 
> 
> 4\. Gina’s Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7EDyFQV32b9CwbNT3ECa1q?si=MiOQ0R-yRKOETxNex1jdoQ


End file.
